


Between the Shadow and the Soul

by tracy7307



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Horror, M/M, Romance, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracy7307/pseuds/tracy7307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For 34 years, Steve Rogers has been in a relationship with Tony Stark.  In each of the story’s four parts, an object or memory triggers a flashback to an earlier moment of their lives.  Steve recalls a children’s hospital visit, his musical education, a very drunken Christmas and a zombie apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Shadow and the Soul

**Title:** Between the Shadow and the Soul  
 **Author name:** tracy7307  
 **Beta name:** demon_rum, ella_bane, leiandra and pjvilar. Thank you to enkanowen for the word wars.  
 **Characters/Pairing:** Steve/Tony, Bruce, Clint/Natasha, Thor  
 **Fandom/Universe:** MCU  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word count:** 23,070  
 **Warnings:** horror/gore in Part 4 (zombies)  
 **Summary:** For 34 years, Steve Rogers has been in a relationship with Tony Stark. In each of the story’s four parts, an object or memory triggers a flashback to an earlier moment of their lives. Steve recalls a children’s hospital visit, his musical education, a very drunken Christmas and a zombie apocalypse.

 **Fanworker name:** pinkelephant42  
 **Type of fanwork:** digital drawings  
 **Link to accompanying fanwork master post:** [Accompanying artwork here](http://pinkelephant42.livejournal.com/175999.html)

Part One: Cognizance

For an old man of sixty, Steve feels rather spry. Not many aches and pains to complain about (save for the occasional groan while getting out of bed in the morning), and he’d say that he’s managed to stay rather fit for his age. He enjoys his early morning runs – nothing can beat the feel of cool air on his face while the sun kisses the horizon.

Today he runs through the South Cove of Battery Park. It’s quiet this morning – there’s just the cries of the seagulls, the blue-grey waters of the harbor, and his feet on the concrete. His heart thumps in his chest, his lungs contract and expand, and after the chaos he’s lived through, he’s glad for every breath of air. From Stark Mansion to Battery Park round-trip it’s ten miles, and the sun hangs higher in the air by the time he returns. 

Tony is asleep in their bedroom, snoring away. Steve closes the door quietly and goes to the kitchen for his bottle of water and banana and puts on a pot of coffee for Tony. 

By the time he’s pouring the first cup, Tony’s arms wrap around him from behind. Even after all this time, the embrace makes him feel twenty-six and smitten.

“Morning, baby,” Tony says against the back of Steve’s neck, pressing a kiss to his skin. “Oo, salty. Yuck.” The hair there is more grey than blond but Steve knows that Tony’s well past the point of caring. It seems as though Tony’s never going to go fully grey – his hair has stayed black and sprinkled with white for decades, and he still looks debonair at seventy. 

Tony picks up the mug. “Is this for me? Thanks!”

Steve turns in Tony’s embrace and places a soft kiss to his forehead. “I just came home from a run. You know better than to cuddle up on me after that.” 

“I like your sweat, though. Manly and sexy. You even _smell_ patriotic. Too bad they never made cologne of it. Eau de Captain. Macy’s would sell out in an hour.”

“You-are-so-weird.” Steve punctuates every pause with a little kiss to Tony’s face. Tony squirms a bit but smiles, and it’s completely worth it; he smiles with his whole face. “What are your plans today?” 

“Lunch with Pepper and Happy at Lupa, you remember, that new place on 8th Ave? No? Fantastic foie gras, really to die for. They have big news to tell me, so it’s either that they’re finally old enough to get the senior discount at McDonald’s or that Victoria is pregnant. I’m putting my money on Victoria. Pepper and Happy are dying to be grandparents and all, and Victoria’s more likely to have kids than Hugo. Then at two I have a brief meeting with the board then a meeting at three with the robotics division and figure out how in the hell they managed to fuck up the Marina in Abu Dhabi so royally. All they had to do was -” Tony pauses. Steve must have that vacant expression again, and thankfully, Tony skips the narrative. “Anyways, that’s it, and I’ll be back for dinner. What about you?” 

Steve mentally ticks off all the possible things he could do. He ponders and says, “I’m just gonna relax. Probably find something I haven’t read yet and spend some time in the study.” 

Tony gets a devilish grin, laugh lines forming deep around his eyes. “You just want to be at home alone to watch porn. I know how you operate, you sick little puppy. I bet you’ve got an entire queue of twink porn lined up.” 

Steve feels his face heat; Tony’s fascination with saying crude things to make Steve flush all shades of pink and red is never-ending. “Stop being terrible.” 

Tony kisses Steve’s neck. “Just trying to warm all that ice out of you.” 

“You’ve had thirty-four years. That’s more than enough time.” 

“You’re so damn sexy when you blush though. Pink’s a really good color on you.” 

Steve pushes at Tony’s shoulder. “Shut up already and go get ready.” 

Tony kisses Steve once more and heads to the shower.

~*~

It turns out there’s nothing in the study’s rows of books that looks appealing. Non-fiction, fiction, journals – Steve’s read many of them, and the only choices left are some of Tony’s engineering reference books, written in a language (English, apparently) that Steve will never speak, no matter how often Tony tries to explain wiring and motherboards.

So he peruses the artifacts instead. Items are stored throughout the shelves: black-and-white photos of family and friends long since passed, faded pictures of Clint and Natasha’s wedding in Al Capone’s cell in Alcatraz (Steve found it creepy yet strangely appropriate), and more recent ones of vacations they’ve taken since they stopped working for SHIELD. 

Steve pulls down a picture of himself and Tony on a cobblestone street in Prague from around 20 years ago, arms flung casually around each other and Thor posing (lewdly) with Mjolnir in the background. He’s trying to recall why the others weren’t in this picture when something catches his eye. From behind the empty spot left by the frame, it glints in the study’s light. Steve reaches back, pulls it down and holds a small plastic tiara in his hand. The silver foil of the crown is flaking in parts and it’s missing several faded rhinestones, but Steve remembers with brilliant clarity how brightly it shone the first time he saw it.

~*~

“-the motherfucking fuck did you think you were doing, Stark? Does anything run through that brain of yours besides pussy and alcohol?”

Fury’s voice boomed down the stairs as Steve climbed up for the meeting. Apparently, he was early. He hung back for privacy’s sake – not like it made much of a difference, considering the volume of Fury’s voice. 

“Hey, now that’s a little harsh, director. To be fair, it’s pussy, alcohol, and weapons engineering.” 

“Stark! You arrogant, disrespectful, egotistical son of a bitch, so help me fucking god, I will have your ass scrubbing every inch of Fifth Avenue that you fucked up. I hope you like soft-bristled toothbrushes ‘cause that’s what you’re gonna use to clean up that that sorry-ass display.” 

“Be fair now. It was just a little rocket launch, no big deal, Nick-”

“Director FURY to you, motherfucker! You took out an entire law firm! Thank fuck that building was empty. Do you know how many people you could’ve killed?” 

“Really? You’re sticking up for _lawyers_ now?”

Steve decided to make an appearance and try and head off the impending murder. 

“Director? You wanted to see me?”

Fury had his hand wrapped around a stapler with his arm cocked back, apparently the closest weapon. His head snapped toward Steve. Slowly, he put down the stapler. (And thank god, because Steve didn’t really feel like listening to Stark whining all night about being beaten with a Swingline.) Fury looked back to Stark. “Your ass is lucky that Cap showed up and put me in a good motherfuckin’ mood. Stark Industries pays for all damages.” 

“Well, of course. See now? That’s an easy enough solution Ni- I mean, Director Fury. You didn’t really need to go all Office Max on me. I mean a stapler, who even-” 

“Make sure you get those permits pushed through within one week’s time.”

“I can have that done in three days. The commissioner is a big fan of the newest StarkPod I sent him and-”

“And you have to do community service with Cap.” 

Five uncomfortable beats of silence passed. “Couldn’t I just make a donation-”

“Not that goddamn easy, Stark. You have to go with him the next time he volunteers. Mandatory. Two hours. No ifs, ands, or buts. Captain, I expect you to report back to me when it’s done.”

Steve nodded.

“And Stark?”

Stark turned, one foot already out the door. 

“You better be on your best fuckin’ behavior.”

~*~

It so happened that Steve had already planned on volunteering that Saturday at the New York-Presbyterian Children’s Hospital, so he invited Stark to come along. Well, maybe he should say Tony, though he wasn’t quite sure if they were friendly enough for first names yet. Several baseball games, hours spent helping Tony in his lab, sleepless nights that turned into sparring sessions, and several long conversations in the study certainly gave all the right signals.

Still, Steve tried to tread carefully around Tony. He was as likely to say terrible things after a few drinks as he was to try to drag Steve to some black-tie event (“I swear to god, Steve, I need someone real to keep me sane in that shark pool.”) Steve could tell something was eating under Tony’s skin, something that caused the drunken nights, and he knew Tony would confide in him. Steve was just biding his time. 

Tony accepted Steve’s invitation to the hospital, but not without grumbling the entire ride. “Really, would they approve of me being around _kids_? I mean, come on, it’s me we’re talking about here. Everyone would be much better off if I could just donate some funds. I’d get a tax write-off and bam – the little sick kids of New York have the Stark Gaming Room to play in. Seriously, a much better use of everyone’s time. The kids would be happy, I’d be creating jobs, it’s a win-win for every-”

“We’re here.” That much was obvious what with the car stopping in front of the glass hospital doors, but someone had to shut Tony up and it certainly seemed like Happy wasn’t going to do it. 

Inside, Shirley beamed at Steve from behind the welcoming desk. This part always embarrassed the heck out of him. “Hey y’all! Look who’s back! Captain himself! How you doin’ baby? God, so good to see you! The kids are gonna have a fit when they find out you’re back. Gimme some sugar.” 

She came out from behind the desk and threw her large arms up around Steve’s neck. He bent down to hug her back, and he could feel his face flushing from pink to red. 

“Now lookit you, ten shades of red. You’re too cute and nice for your own good – you know that? You gonna make some woman _real_ lucky one day.” She pulled back from the hug, looking around Steve. “I see you brought a friend with you.” Her tone wasn’t halfway as friendly, and her face fell from glee to serious business. “Can I help you, sir?”

Tony put on his best smile for her, reached out, took her hand, and kissed her knuckles in _the most_ ostentations display. “Lovely to meet you, miss-” he looked at her name badge – “Shirley Johnson. I’m Tony Stark.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Never heard of you.” (Steve grinned at the StarkPhone sticking out of her scrubs’ pocket.) “Follow Cap’s lead. He’ll show you where to go.” She turned from Tony to Steve, the serious look on her face breaking into a large grin. “I’ll talk to _you_ later, baby.” And Shirley winked at him before heading back behind her desk. 

Steve positioned himself in the back of the elevator, willing the blood to flow from his face. 

Tony elbowed his side. “Steve Rogers - you sly dog. You’ve been holding out on me. Are you planning on making a move on Shirley? Nurses are amongst the kinkiest, I hear. Seriously. Riding crops, cuffs, all kinds of toys. One time I slept with this nurse who pulled out a strap-” 

Steve held up his hand to shut Tony up and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Since looking like a carp wasn’t particularly becoming, he closed his mouth and shook his head. 

“Simmer down, Rogers. I’m teasing.” The elevator doors opened and Tony shoved Steve’s shoulder. “Now lead the way, O Captain, My Captain.” 

After another red-faced inducing display of affection, the floor nurse led them to the purple-curtained room of a five-year-old girl with osteosarcoma. The nurse explained that the girl had successfully undergone chemotherapy last year to treat the cancer in her leg, but now it had returned. All other means of saving her leg had been exhausted, including radiation. 

Tomorrow her leg would be amputated. 

Lifting the spirits of those who were scared: this was something Steve had perfected. Tony, however, looked like he was ready to bolt at the first given opportunity. 

The nurse pulled the curtain aside. “Gentlemen, this is Ashley. Ashley? This here is Mr. Steve, and this man here is Mr. Tony. They’re here to visit you today.” She turned and smiled. “Have fun, guys. Don’t stay past two, though. Her family will be back by then.” 

A mural of a school of fish flanking a smiling dolphin decorated one wall. A light blue couch sat under the scene, and two light blue chairs were pulled up against a raised hospital bed that was surrounded by various blinking machines. 

On the bed sat a little girl with her short brown hair pulled in a ponytail high on the back of her head. She looked up at them with giant brown eyes. They were wide like saucers, like some of those Japanese cartoon eyes that Steve had seen on television. She had a little button nose, and she was so achingly cute that Steve wanted to take out his sketch book and draw her right there. 

Ashley had other ideas. “Mr. Steve, sit down here!” she commanded excitedly and pointed at a seat. Steve knew when to take orders, and this was certainly one of those times. “Mr. Tony, sit here!” She pointed at the seat on the other side of her bed. 

Tony said nothing but sniffed defiantly, taking his assigned seat. Steve glared at him from the other side of the bed before turning his attention to back to Ashley. “Hi, Ashley. I’m Mr. Steve. Pleased to meet you.” 

“Hi, Mr. Steve. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-six.” Tony muffled a laugh. “If you don’t count the years I was asleep.” 

“You were ‘sleep for years?” 

“Yes, I was. Seventy years, actually.” 

“Is it ‘cause you forget to take a nap? Mommy always says that if I don’t take a nap I’m in-porridge-able.”

Steve smiled. “Do you mean incorrigible?”

Ashley blinked at him as if he was not the brightest crayon in the box. “That’s what I said, Mr. Steve. In-porridge-able.” She snuck a glance at Tony. “Is Mr. Tony your brother?”

“No, sweetie. He’s not my brother.” 

“Oh. Is he your boyfriend?” 

“He-, boy-, what?” Steve spluttered. 

“You know, your boyfriend. My brother Shawn is in high school and he has a boyfriend. Is Mr. Tony your boyfriend?” 

Tony cocked his eyebrow at Steve, a little smirk on his lips, the smug son-of-a-gun. 

“No, he’s not my boyfriend. Mr. Tony and I work together to help people who are being harmed by bad guys.” 

“Oh,” Ashley said flatly. Apparently this wasn’t the answer she was seeking. Suddenly she brightened up. “Hey, wanna play?” 

Before he could even say _sure_ , Ashley had reached back to her bedside table and pulled out three glittering tiaras. She placed on one her head. She took the other two in each of her tiny hands and thrust them at Steve and Tony. “If you wanna play you hafta wear these. It’s in the rules.” 

Steve plucked it from her fingers and paused. This was a sick little girl who was about to lose a limb. If wearing a tiara was going to distract her from thinking about it, then you bet your last dollar Steve Rogers would do it. He stretched the arms back and pulled it on his head. 

Ashley turned to Tony, who hadn’t yet taken his tiara. “Here, Mr. Tony. You hafta wear it!” 

Tony looked repulsed. “Okay, look Ashley. You’re a sweet little kid and all, but wouldn’t you like to play with the StarkPad? Look, it has all kinds of fun apps for you. You can make your own dolls, build your own dream castle, write your own fairy tale. It’s just that tiaras aren’t really my thing, Ashley. Sorry.” 

Ashley looked at him with a quivering bottom lip. She blinked her giant eyes at him twice, held out the tiara, and Tony’s shoulders slumped. He snatched the tiara and jammed it on his head. Steve would never have figured that two blinks from an adorable little girl would be Iron Man’s greatest weakness. 

Ashley beamed up at Tony. “Mr. Tony you look so pretty!” 

Tony leaned in. “Not as pretty as you, sweetpea.” She ducked her head and grinned. 

God, he could even charm five-year-olds? Steve wondered if Tony’s charisma knew _any_ bounds. 

“What would you like to play, Ashley?” Steve asked. He wasn’t feeling jealous. Not at all.

She turned and reached for a white plastic stable with a pink handle on the side table. When she flipped open the latch, the lid fell forward, and Steve was faced with a row of plastic horse faces - very pink plastic horse faces. 

Tony looked mortified. “Steve, are you a brony? Because I’m not a brony. I know there are guys who blog and make fanvids and whatnot but this is just not me. I don’t even know how to brohoof.”

Steve let Tony’s babble float over his head as Ashley pulled one from its stall and handed it to Steve - a blue one. “This is Soarin.” She handed a light pink pony with a dark pink mane to Tony. “This is Pinkie Pie.” 

“Pinkie Pie?” Tony stated. “Seriously? I have to play with a pony named Pinkie P-”

Steve coughed and shot Tony a glare he’d reserved only for Loki. 

“At least you get a blue one,” Tony mumbled. 

Amazingly enough, Tony played nicely from that point on. He gave Pinkie Pie a high-pitched voice and had her gallop with Soarin. Along with Ashley’s pony, they banished the evil Nightmare Moon and saved the day for all of Ponyland. 

In the elevator ride back down, Tony held his tiara between his fingers. Ashley insisted that they keep them and come back. Steve nudged Tony. “You’re a good sport for doing that, you know.” 

Tony shrugged one shoulder. “No big deal. I’ve been caught doing worse things.” 

Steve laughed. “Nice line, pal. I’ve heard that one before. Seriously, it meant a lot to her, so – thanks.” 

Tony smiled, pulled out his aviators, and strutted out of the elevator when the doors swished open, cool as could be.

~*~

Steve lay wide awake on his bed that night and couldn’t shake the thought of Ashley alone in her room, feeling terrified and uncertain about tomorrow. He pictured tears falling from those big brown eyes onto her bed sheet and felt compelled to visit her once more, just to whisper a few words of encouragement to her. Sneak in and sneak back out – that was his plan.

Quietly he slid on a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt and sneakers and made his way up to the hospital. The nurses waved him by when he went to check in. As he approached the purple curtain, though, he heard a hushed voice whispering from the other side. 

It was Tony. 

He peeked around the curtain and saw Tony with the blue chair pulled up tight to the bedside, right next to Ashley. He held one of her hands in his, and with the other he was stroking her hair. 

“It’s okay, sweetpea,” he whispered. “You might feel scared tomorrow. I know that it’s a big change in your life.” Ashley sniffled, and Tony handed her a tissue. She blew her nose loudly and placed it in a pile of balled-up tissues. “I know it’s scary, Ashley. But you’re gonna be brave. You’re going to fight through it, because that’s what tough guys do. Do you want to be tough like Mr. Tony and Mr. Steve?”

“Yeah,” Ashley said with a trembling voice.

“Then I need you to remember this. Tough guys get scared too. Mr. Steve and I are scared _all the time_. But you know what, honey?” 

“What?” 

“We have to fight anyway. We have to fight because it’s the right thing to do, even though we don’t know if we’ll win and even though we’re scared. When you are feeling scared, Ashley, you have to remember to fight through that feeling to win. And you _will_ win. Because when this is all over with, you will have the newest, best leg on the face of the Earth. You know how I know that?”

“How?”

Tony smiled. “Because I’m gonna make your leg myself, and I only make the best.” 

Ashley sniffled. “Really?”

“Really. The fastest leg ever.” 

“Mr. Tony?” 

“Yeah?”

“What made you scared the most?”

Tony swallowed heavily. “It’s a long story, sweetpea. And I think it’s time for you to go to sleep.” 

“Will you read me a bedtime story?” 

Tony lifted a book from her bedside table. As he read, her eyes drooped closed. 

Steve pulled away quietly and returned to the mansion. He headed straight for Tony’s room and walked in, surprised that JARVIS didn’t stop him. For a half-hour he stood and waited. He picked up the tiara from Tony’s dresser, spinning it between his fingers.

 _I’m gonna make your leg myself._ Steve’s heart squeezed at the thought. He recalled the most recent article about Tony ( _Tony Stark: One Ego to Rule Them All_ ) from the _Times_. He wished they knew about quiet moments like the one from the hospital; they had no idea how wrong they were. 

When Tony walked in the room, he didn’t seem particularly surprised by Steve’s presence. “Hey,” he said, kicking off his shoes and tossing his keys onto the dresser. “Did you miss me?”

“Tony, I just wanted to tell you-” Steve focused on Tony’s feet and felt his face burning six shades of red. “-how sorry I am that we got off on the wrong foot. I was stubborn and didn’t want to hear you out and I had you pegged all wrong. I thought you were egotistical, narcissistic, crude, and you drink too much.”

“Are we seriously gonna go there right now, Cap? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve heard this all before.” 

“Let me finish. You might be those things on the surface. To the media, and to those who know you casually, that’s what you are. But not to me; I see who you are. Underneath all of that you’re kind and caring, funny and sensitive, and you’re good. To your very heart, you’re a good man, Tony Stark. And I just wanted you to know that in case you didn’t realize it yourself.” 

Steve stared down at the carpet and willed himself to continue. “I respect and admire you. And I don’t want you to think I dislike you. Because I don’t. I-” Something hot and confusing welled up in his chest, and he had no idea how to even begin verbalizing what he felt. He clutched the tiara tightly in his hand. 

After several moments of silence, Tony’s feet moved across the carpet in three long strides and he kissed Steve, long and hard.

Warmth unfurled through Steve’s body, hot and pleasant as Tony’s lips moved against his. He finally realized what it was he was feeling: want. Steve wanted to be with Tony, wanted more of Tony’s mouth on him, wanted Tony’s hand down his tented sweatpants. Tony’s hands roamed up his back to his shoulder blades, fingertips dragging back down roughly and Steve moaned against Tony’s lips because apparently he had lost all self-control. 

Steve grabbed Tony’s hips and pulled him in close. When Tony’s tongue pushed past his lips, Steve broke the kiss and stepped back, his mind reeling. 

“Sorry,” Steve gasped. He could barely think straight for all the lust clouding his brain. “I just-”

“Hey, it’s fine. Come back here.” Tony snaked his arms around Steve’s waist, and Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s shoulders. “Too fast. I know.” 

They stood in silence as Steve held Tony, his heartbeat slowing against Tony’s collarbone. 

“I know this has to be all strange and confusing to you, but I promise you, Steve, this _will_ be okay. We’ve come a long way in seventy years, and things like this - that happen between two men or two women - are fine. It won’t be easy; I won’t lie about that. But we’re used to things not being easy, right?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. And yeah, maybe he did believe that this could work. “It’s never stopped us before.” 

Tony huffed a laugh against his shoulder. “Hell no, it hasn’t.” 

Steve placed a kiss to Tony’s forehead and pulled away, setting the tiara down where he found it. “So, can I, uh, take you out then?” 

Tony smiled and leaned against his dresser. “Steve Rogers, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah, I suppose I am. I know this great place in Brooklyn. Best Italian food this side of the Hudson. It’s still there; I checked on Google dot com yesterday.”

Tony plucked his phone from his pocket and swiped at the screen a few times until he had a calendar on the display. “Friday at eight p.m. I’m all yours, Steve.” 

Steve grinned and fought the urge to jump up and down. “Night, Tony.” 

“Night, Steve.” 

As he pulled the door closed, he peeked one last time to watch Tony slip off his shirt, arc reactor bathing the room in blue light. 

Yeah. Steve could get used to this.

Part Two: Melody

It’s when Steve is pouring olive oil into the saucepan that he notices it: the first snow of the season. Technically it isn’t winter yet, but Steve always welcomes an early November snowfall.

“JARVIS. Put on ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm’ by Billie Holiday.” 

Fat, soft snowflakes dance past the windows of Stark Tower. Likely they’ll melt by the time they complete the long fall to the concrete streets below, but they still look gorgeous as they flit and gather on the outdoor deck. As much as New Yorkers moan about the bitter cold and the brutal snowfall, seeing things coated in white makes them look pure and unblemished, as if Mother Nature is giving the city a second chance. Steve can never hate winter for this.

Billie’s sultry voice fills the kitchen as Steve adds halved chicken breasts to the sizzling oil. Memories of winters past flood his memory as it cooks: running down to the street after a three-foot downfall and the terrifying moments of being whitewashed by Natasha; nailing Thor with two snowballs to his broad back before the Hulk crashed through Steve’s snowfort and sent him flying into a snowman; Tony swooping down in his suit to grab Steve and hoist him to an overpass where they joined Clint, gaining advantage from above as they fired off snowballs at everyone below. 

_Off with my overcoat, off with my glove. I need no overcoat, I’m burnin’ with love!_

“Aw, my little romantic sap. Sappy Capsicle. Sapsicle!” Tony says as he enters the kitchen and plants a kiss on Steve’s cheek. He walks to the bar to pour himself a drink. “Smells delicious in here. What’s for dinner?” 

“Chicken.”

“Just chicken? Parmigiana? Cacciatore? Alfredo?”

“With white wine and rosemary.” 

Tony catches Steve’s wrist and pulls him close into a swaying dance. The skin on the back of Tony’s hand is lightly spotted and willowy with age. Steve gently runs his fingers over it, its delicacy a proud symbol to him of their decades together. 

“Do you ever think of food that’s _not_ Italian?” Steve asks. 

“I want you to think about that question real hard, baby, and think about who it is that you’re asking. I can’t eat it if it doesn’t have two heads of garlic chopped into it.” 

“Mm. Sounds good. I could still mince some and throw it in.” Steve lets Tony lead him around the kitchen. Steps that were rehearsed and practiced for decades now come naturally. “You need to let me go, Tony. The chicken’s gonna burn.” 

“Let it burn, then. That’s why God invented carryout. JARVIS, call Roma’s and order one plate of chicken alfredo and one of veal parmigiana. And a Caprese salad.” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

Steve stops dancing. “But I’ve got dinner covered.”

“Shh.” Tony pulls Steve’s ear down to his lips. “Do you remember the first time we danced?” 

“Yeah.” To hell with the chicken- it can burn. It’s time to follow Tony’s lead, and Steve likes where this is going. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Remind me.” Tony asks this often of Steve – his enhanced memory fills in the blanks in Tony’s. “Tell me everything.”

And he does. Even after all this time, there is nothing he will deny if Tony asks it.

~*~

“Excuse me? You learned what today?”

Steve rolled his eyes, peeked out from under the hood of the car he was working on and repeated himself. “Dougie. I learned how to dance the Dougie.” 

Tony leaned back against his workbench. “Seriously. Are you fucking with me? You’re fucking with me. You have to be.”

“Do you have to be so crass?” Steve extracted himself from the car’s engine. “Yes, I learned to Dougie today. I was playing basketball with some kids at the Urban Youth Center in Harlem this morning. They were impressed with my skills, so they thought they’d show me one of their dances. It’s called the Dougie, but I can’t even figure out why because none of them were named Doug.” 

Tony stepped forward and peeled off his goggles. The arc reactor, glowing under his black tank top, cast faint blue in the sheen of sweat along Tony’s arms (arms that Steve loved to watch as Tony worked in his lab, all flexing biceps and strong forearms with black hair. When Tony had once caught Steve looking, he mercifully stayed quiet and winked.) 

“JARVIS, play ‘Teach Me How to Dougie’.”

“Shall I play the Cali Swag District version or the more refined version by The Chipmunks, sir?” JARVIS’s polite disembodied voice still startled Steve, though he’d been hearing it regularly these last six months since living in Stark Mansion. 

“I don’t care. Chipmunks. No, no don’t play the goddamn Chipmunks. Play the original.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

A loud drumbeat filled the room. “Come on out from under that car. Let’s see what ya got, baby. Show me some moves!” 

Steve wiped the grease from his hands on the nearest rag and stepped away from the car. The endearment made him blush; he’d never been anyone’s baby before. “Fine. No poking fun, though, I only just learned it.” 

“Please. Like I’d tease the elderly. I was raised correctly, Steven.” 

Steve rolled his eyes before a sudden shyness made his stomach flip. Making a jackass of himself in front of his new boyfriend was the last thing he’d wanted to do, though Tony had been surprisingly gentle during the month they’d been together. He let Steve set the pace of the relationship, and Steve looked forward to every date, usually dinner and drinks (breakfast once, after they’d battled an army of mutated giant rats one night). Those nights were filled with rambling conversations that ended with Tony’s kisses in front of Steve’s bedroom door. 

Steve shook off the embarrassment as he felt the beat, closed his eyes, and remembered the steps that Michael and DeQuan had taught him on the court that morning: lean side-to-side, one-two-three, left, right, left-right-left, then put your arms into it, and finally swipe your hands around the back of your head. 

He stopped when Tony doubled over with laughter. 

“Really? Is it that bad?” 

“No, no, no. I swear to God it’s good, actually. You could give Jabbawockeez a run for their money.” Tony wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “I just wasn’t expecting that you’d come out all smooth like Usher.”

“The Jabba-what? An usher? Like the people who help you find your seats?” 

A beat of silence passed as Tony mulled something over. “We’ve got some territory to make up. Hip-hop before Elvis – you’ve done this all ass-backwards. We’re starting your musical education.”

~*~

“I’ve got the fifties,” Natasha stated loudly over the steady _thwaps_ of Steve’s fists hitting the punching bag.

Steve turned to find her standing cross-armed behind him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, catching his breath. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve got the 1950s covered. A little birdie told me you’ve got some serious moves, so I’ll teach you the dances from the fifties.” 

Steve regarded her quietly for a moment. The last thing he’d expected was an offer to dance with the Black Widow. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I served undercover as a Russian dance instructor. It just so happened that the leaders of a human trafficking ring were planning on throwing a ball, so they hired me to teach them to dance for it. When the big night finally came, I took down eleven men all by my lonesome.” Her eyes glazed over at the proud memory.

Fantastic. Not terrifying at all. Steve was going to end up flat on his back with her heel at his throat – he could see it.

They started lessons that night, and he responded well to her firm commands. _Must be the soldier in me that enjoys being bossed around_ , he thought. The only disconcerting moment was when he put his hand on the small of her back and felt the outline of a knife. After a polite request, she started leaving it on the table next to them – only slightly less frightening. He kept his hands above her waist with soldier-like diligence for the fear of being stabbed. 

The flip side of all the terror that came along with being so bodily close to Natasha Romanoff was that she successfully taught him the lindy, the fox trot, the stroll, the twist, the jitterbug, and played music for him that he came to adore. He learned quickly and before long they’d gathered an audience when practicing, earning applause when Steve flipped her around his back and lifted her into the air. 

As for the music of the era, he was saddened that he missed Elvis during his heyday and that he never attended sock hops to dance to the likes of Buddy Holly, Ray Charles, and Little Richard. Rock and roll felt like the blues sped up and then had a baby with country and western. It sounded exuberant, a bit dangerous, and more sexual than anything he’d heard. Steve fell fast and hard for it. 

Once, he was singing _Shake, Rattle and Roll_ loudly with his StarkPod earbuds jammed in his ears. Tony plucked out a bud and looked at him with a raised eyebrow of judgment. 

“What? It’s a good song!” Steve said. 

Tony simply walked away, shaking his head.

~*~

The pungent odor of reefer wafted from the direction of Bruce’s room. “Come on in,” Bruce said when Steve knocked. “Hey, Cap. Sit down. Take a load off.” Bruce looked as rumpled as usual in a button down shirt, shorts, and sandals.

Steve closed the door behind him and sat as Bruce took a drag from his joint, glowing orange at the tip as he inhaled. 

“Want a hit?” Bruce asked with a voice strained from holding in smoke. He held out the joint toward Steve.

“No thanks. It wouldn’t do anything for me anyway.” 

“Oh, right, right.” Smoke curled out from Bruce’s mouth as he spoke. “Effects of the serum.” 

“Right.” Steve said. “Isn’t reefer illegal?” 

“People call it weed now,” Bruce said as he smoked again, deeply this time. “And it is illegal without a prescription for certain medical conditions.” He tilted his head back and exhaled, a thin film of smoke rising up to the ceiling. He looked at Steve and smiled. “I’d say I have a condition.” 

Steve mulled it over. “I suppose if it helps you, it can’t be bad.” It was then that he noticed the music coming from Bruce’s record player. “What’s this music?” 

“Oh, this? This is The Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper’s album. You haven’t heard them yet?” 

“Can’t say that I have.” He listened for a moment longer to the mix of guitar, vocals and trumpets. “I like it, though.” 

“Natasha took you through the music of the fifties, right?” 

Steve nodded. 

“Well let me be your guide through the sixties.” 

When they weren’t on call with SHIELD or making some public appearance arranged by Fury, Steve spent his time holed up in Bruce’s room, surrounded by Grateful Dead posters and black and white photos of India. Bruce would put on an album, plop down on the chair opposite to Steve, and light a joint. Despite Tony’s constant goading, Bruce insisted on listening to music on an old-fashioned record player. “Gives it more character,” Bruce had said with a lopsided grin.

Most of the time Bruce talked about politics or science. Twice, he let Steve sketch him. Occasionally he sat in silence, eyes fixed in some other time and place, lost in the music. Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, and Simon and Garfunkel seemed to take him to this mystery place most often. Steve listened to the lyrics and tried to sort out what resonated with Bruce, but he never could. Bruce had walls around his walls.

One night Steve left Bruce’s room and wandered into the darkened, still living room. Tony sat on the corner of the sofa, bare feet tucked underneath him. The light from the tablet in his lap glowed up on his face, and Tony tapped at it furiously. Suddenly he paused, his brows furrowed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mother fucking son-of-a-bitch, how did I miss that? Just fucked myself over, put myself back for a week-”

“Hey,” Steve interrupted. He sat next to Tony, pulled the tablet from him, and placed it on the table. Steve wrapped his arms around Tony and he melted into the embrace, boneless and frustrated, laying his head on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m going to share something that I heard tonight from a wise songwriter. ‘Let it be’.” 

Tony huffed a laugh against Steve’s collarbone, hot breath fanning down his chest. Steve thought that he’d be content to stay like this for the rest of his life, with his heart beating hard and fast against Tony. Tony’s arms snaked around his waist. 

Tony still had a smudge of oil on his nose. It smelled like he’d forgotten to shower today, certainly not uncommon when he holed himself up in the lab, but Steve didn’t mind. He buried his nose in Tony’s hair, smelling the musk. In his bed, he’d remember this smell when he would wish Tony was by his side. 

Tony sniffed at Steve’s shirt. “You smell like weed. Are you high?”

“Can’t get high.” Steve traced the outline of Tony’s shoulder blades through the thin black undershirt. “And Bruce was smoking while I was in his room.” 

Tony knelt up higher, his mouth dragging along Steve’s neck as he spoke. “You’re spending an awful lot of time with Bruce these days,” he said as he pressed close, kissing Steve’s neck, sensitive skin there forming goosebumps under the tickle of Tony’s beard. “I might start to think things about you two.” 

Steve was tired; it had been a long day of working out, sparring, four hours of meetings at SHIELD, and dinner and music with Bruce. Tony was solid and warm in his arms, and his lips made Steve feel simultaneously hot, horny, and completely conscious of his awkward lack of experience.

“It’s not like that,” Steve said. His heart beat rabbit-fast as Tony kissed along his jaw, open-mouthed and wet as his hands traveled down the curve of Steve’s ass. Steve shifted and Tony reached down further, squeezing and massaging his cheeks, and God did it feel good. _This_ was what he’d wanted for the last couple weeks. The goodnight kisses at Steve’s bedroom door had grown longer and more desperate with Tony’s tongue in his mouth and his fingers that teased just under the waist of his pants before they broke apart, breathless. After their dates, he stroked himself and imagined Tony’s hands on him, wrapped around his cock, toes curling as he came. 

“What is it like, then?” Tony asked, but didn’t give Steve a chance to answer as he kissed him, deep, hard and filthier than anything he’d ever experienced. He was glad that Tony’s tongue was occupying his own, sliding and teasing, because he could hardly form any coherent response with his erection pressing so hard against the fly of his jeans. 

Tony pulled back, nipping at Steve’s neck. “Tell me what it’s like for you and Bruce, then.” 

“He plays music for me.” His cock throbbed – if only he could get Tony’s hand off his thigh and onto his crotch. He covered Tony’s hand and shifted so that it slid forward a bit. 

“Does he do this for you?” Tony kissed him again as he rubbed his palm along Steve’s erection. “Does he touch you like this?” 

“God, no, Tony.” Steve’s hips flexed as Tony cupped his length and squeezed. Steve whimpered. Rather unmanly, but it couldn’t be helped. If this kept up, he’d come in his pants like a teenager. 

“Do you want him to?” Tony asked as he tugged at the button on Steve’s fly.

“No, I don’t.” Steve pulled Tony in for another kiss and pressed his hand down harder against his erection. 

Tony ran his hand over Steve’s length – the pressure was firm, but not enough through the thickness of his jeans. “Do you want me to touch you?” 

“Yes,” Steve hissed as Tony opened the button and zip. 

“Say it.” Tony’s fingers rasped through Steve’s pubic hair. 

“I want you to touch me.” 

“Only me?” 

“Only you.” 

“Good. Because I don’t share.”

“Me neither. God, please, Tony.”

Tony’s fingers skimmed along his cock with teasing, feather-light touches. Steve shimmied his jeans over his hips and his cock sprang free, hitting Tony’s wrist. Tony chuckled, low. “Bossy.” Finally he began stroking, sliding his hand languidly from base to tip. The world narrowed to the reactor’s blue glow and Tony’s hand, twisting a bit, pulling down the foreskin to slide his thumb over the slit. 

Steve rested his forehead against Tony’s shoulder and looked down to see his cockhead peeking through Tony’s fist, lit in blue. He closed his eyes against the sight, not wanting to end this too early and make a mess over Tony’s fifty-thousand dollar sofa. 

It was that moment when he caught a faint whiff of fish. 

His head snapped up and to the right. Sitting cross-legged in the oversized chair facing them sat Natasha, eating a plate of sushi with thin chopsticks and looking at them as if she were watching a nature program. 

“Holy cow! Natasha!” Steve jumped back from Tony and turned to face the back of the sofa and tuck himself back in his jeans, grimacing, because _ow_. 

“Christ, how do you even sneak up on someone like that? Did they have classes in the art of being a creepy creeper at Spy School?” Tony asked, leaning to his right a bit, trying to give Steve a bit of privacy.

“Yes, Stark,” Natasha said around a mouthful of California roll. “I got an A in creepy creeping, as you can tell.” 

Tony ran his hand down Steve’s back. “Did you at least enjoy the show, agent? We’re here every Monday and Wednesday for your viewing pleasure. Check your local listing for times. Rated TV MA – mature audiences only.” 

All adjusted, Steve stood and pulled Tony to his feet, dragging him from the room. He was sure he was the color of a cherry from his forehead to his toes. 

“If you don’t want to be watched, then don’t whip it out in the living room!” she called after them as Steve tugged Tony down the hall and into his bedroom. “By the way, Cap, you’ve got a very impressive-”

Steve kicked the door closed with his foot. 

“You know, Steve, she’s absolutely right. You do have a very impressive-”

“ _Tony_ -” Steve flopped on the corner of the bed and covered his face with his hands. He was rather sure he’d never be able to show his face to her again, which might make missions a bit challenging. He’d never, ever be able to look her in the eyes knowing she’d seen him like that. 

“I mean, I was considering using my other hand to help me out. And I had no idea you were uncut. Fuck, do you know how sexy that is? You’re gonna have to pry me off of that thing, because _hello_ new toy-”

“Tony!” Steve barked. 

This time Tony finally stopped and looked at Steve as if just now noticing he was in the room. “My god, you seriously are upset about this, aren’t you? Don’t do that to yourself. Listen, Steve. Look at me.”

Steve reluctantly pulled his hands from his face only to stare down at Tony’s shoes. 

“I said: look at me.” 

Steve did as he was told. Tony stepped between his legs, running his thumb down Steve’s cheek, and he’d never been looked at like this before, not with the look Tony was giving him. Peggy looked at him once with soft brown eyes filled with admiration, but this was something totally different - something that made Tony’s eyes crinkle around the edges, that made Tony smile genuinely, not with that ridiculous smirk. It made something in Steve’s stomach twist to be looked at that dearly – to be looked at as if the world was centered on him.

“Come here.” Tony tugged Steve up on his feet. “Look at you. You are the height of human perfection. You are a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, ripped piece of magnificence and anyone should be so lucky to have you. I’m still figuring out why you chose me, for fuck’s sake. Every day I look at my ugly face in the mirror and wonder that. I know you’re embarrassed, and I know your morals and sense of what’s proper were just compromised in the living room, but just know this. You are beautiful, and you deserve to be looked at.” 

Steve’s throat thickened. Any possible response that he had was trapped there. Instead, he cupped the side of Tony’s face, leaned down, and kissed him. 

“Tell me something,” Tony said between kisses. “Of all the music that you’ve listened to with Bruce, what do you like the most?” 

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him in tight. “Well, as a band, I’d have to go with The Beatles. I also like all the other British rock: The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, and The Who. But you know what I thought was really great?” 

“What’s that?”

“Soul and R&B. James Brown, Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Ray Charles. I could listen to that all day.” 

“Ah. You’re just American to the core, aren’t you? Bleeding red, white and blue even in your musical tastes. Baby, I’ve got a great song for you.” 

“Yeah?” 

Tony’s eyelids lowered. “Yes,” he said, voice low and full of trouble. “Did Bruce play any Marvin Gaye for you?”

“Oh yeah. _How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You_ , _I Heard It Through the Grapevine_. Good stuff.”

“Looks like he saved the best for me then. Remind me to buy him a fruit basket. Or maybe a pound of hydro weed. JARVIS, play Marvin Gaye’s _Let’s Get It On_ for us, please.” 

“Certainly. A timely and appropriate choice, sir.” 

“JARVIS, seriously? You too? Don’t be a creepy creeper,” Tony chided to the air. He looked up at Steve. “Jesus, it’s like _everyone_ wants in on our sex life today. I understand the appeal, don’t get me wrong, but come on. A little privacy?”

A sultry guitar lick filled the room. Tony placed one hand in the center of Steve’s chest and shoved him back onto the bed. No one had really manhandled Steve like that since the serum, and in this instance, he didn’t mind it. Not one bit. 

_I’ve been really tryin’, baby/ Tryin’ to hold back this feeling for so long/_  
And if you feel like I feel, baby/ Then, c’mon, oh, c’mon/  
Let’s get it on. 

With a sly little grin, Tony reached for the hem of his black tank top, yanked it over his head, and threw it at Steve. It landed on Steve’s face. He pulled it off in time to see Tony reaching for the fly of his jeans, swaying to the beat of the song. Tony seemed to think twice about the jeans. Instead he laid his palms flat on his lower abs, slid them up over his stomach to his chest, and stopped to tweak his nipples, giving Steve a little wink. 

Although Steve had never seen a strip show before, he was fairly certain that this one might have been the best strip show in the history of clothing removal. 

_We’re all sensitive people/ With so much to give/_  
Understand me, sugar/ Since we got to be/ Let’s live/  
I love you 

Tony turned his back to Steve, unzipped his fly, and slid his jeans over his hips - only about halfway down his ass. He wiggled his ass at Steve and shot a mischievous grin back over his shoulder. 

Under the jeans, Tony was wearing star-spangled briefs, and in that wonderful moment, Steve felt love creep up and smack him in the face. Tony dropped his jeans to the floor.

_There’s nothing wrong with me/ Loving you, baby no no/  
And giving yourself to me can never be wrong/ If the love is true/_

Tony climbed on the bed on all fours, his eyes bright and gleaming. Steve spread his legs to let Tony crawl between them. All the nervousness he’d felt about losing his virginity vanished the moment that he saw the front of Tony’s briefs, where a Captain America shield covered the groin area. 

Steve cocked an eyebrow at the briefs. “Were you planning on this happening?” He waved a hand between them. 

“Nope. I have six pairs,” Tony admitted, running his fingers around the waistband. “I wear a pair every time we have a date. You know. Just in case.”

“I didn’t realize they made those for adults.” 

“They do when your boyfriend is Captain America.” Tony settled between Steve’s legs. “You’re far too clothed for this.” He leaned down to kiss Steve, hard and full of intent, before breaking off to lift Steve’s shirt over his head. He placed a hand on Steve’s abdomen and kissed him again. “Christ, I could do my laundry on these,” his hands skimmed up the ridges of Steve’s abs. “All I need is a bucket of water and a box of Tide. Can we try that someday?”

“Tony?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up.” 

“Right. I know, talking too much. I’ve had that problem for ages. Constantly in trouble in school for that. I spent more time outside the principal’s office than in the classroom, you know. I never know when to-”

Steve wrapped his hand around the back of Tony’s neck, pulled him down, and kissed him deeply, letting his tongue slip into Tony’s mouth and make him focus on something besides chatter. 

Tony lay on top of Steve, skin pressed to skin, hips to hips. His erection pressed down against Steve’s groin, hard through the briefs and Steve’s jeans. Tony rocked against him, moaning into the kiss. His hand reached down under the waistband of Steve’s jeans and his wrist bent strangely, the angle too awkward for Tony to reach what he was looking for. “These need to come off.” 

Steve fumbled with the fly and lifted his hips, tugging down until he couldn’t pull the jeans past where Tony sat. Tony took over from there, tugging until they got stuck just under Steve’s knees. He scooted down on the bed a bit, gave one more hard tug, and as the jeans came off he fell to the floor with a thump. 

_Let’s get it on/ Let’s get in on, baby/  
This minute, oh yeah/ Let’s get it on/_

A series of mad giggles came from the floor. 

“You okay?” Steve laughed, crawling forward and lending his hand. 

“Yeah, fine,” Tony laughed, flicking a tear from his cheek. He grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled himself back up on the bed. “Anyways, where were we?” 

Steve spread his legs again and lay back, propped on his elbows. His erection poked out as much as the fabric of the white boxer briefs would allow. 

Tony whistled low and appreciative before leaning forward between Steve’s thighs. He placed kisses, feather-light, along Steve’s stomach, kissing lower and lower. 

Steve’s cock twitched in his underwear and his balls pulled up tight. Tony’s fingers pulled down on the waistband, only tugging low enough to let his cock spring free. Tony rubbed his cheek along its length, and the tip left a messy wet line down Tony’s face. 

When Tony flattened his tongue and ran a broad lick up the shaft, Steve arched up sharply from the bed. He fisted the sheets and prayed it wouldn’t be over this quickly. He imagined Mrs. Gates, his old wrinkly third grade teacher, in her underwear. If any image were to stave off an impending orgasm, this certainly had to be the one. 

Tony took hold of his cock and Steve felt the tip enveloped in the heat of Tony’s mouth. The sensation was so incredible that Steve had to remind himself to breathe when Tony pulled his foreskin back to lick along the slit. 

Steve decided to look down and saw the mess of Tony’s black hair and his lips wrapped tight around Steve’s cock, head bobbing gently as the inside of his thighs glowed blue from the reactor. Tony sucked him down almost to the base and Steve’s hips bucked forward. “God, Tony, oh geez.” 

Tony pulled off Steve’s cock and it slapped against his stomach wetly. “Steve,” he said, pulling down Steve’s underwear. “Wait, I just – I don’t want you to – Can I-” Tony scrubbed his hand down his face. “I want to feel you come while I’m inside of you. I want to fuck you. Is that okay?”

The song had cut off, and the room seemed eerily quiet save for their ragged breathing. It made the reality of the moment even sharper. “Yeah,” Steve panted, “god yes, Tony.” 

“Good,” Tony kissed Steve’s inner thigh. “Good,” he repeated and sat up, stretching for the nightstand drawer. He came back with a bottle of lube in one hand and a condom packet in the other. 

“Uhm, I’m not making any judgments about you, Tony, but I can’t contract diseases or infections. So, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to use that.” Steve nodded at the condom. 

Tony sat between Steve’s legs again. “Now what kind of example would we be setting for today’s youth if we didn’t have safe sex?” He reached for the waistband of his underwear and peeled them down. His cock stood out from a nest of black curls, a little smaller than Steve’s, cut with a rosy head, veined - not the same as Steve’s. Of course not. 

“Good point,” Steve smiled, focusing on Tony’s reactor, on his stray piece of hair sticking up, on the little grey spot in his beard – anything that wasn’t Tony’s lube-coated fingers. “But are we planning on telling today’s youth that we’re having sex?” 

“It’ll come out at some point.” Tony smoothed his non-lubricated hand down Steve’s thigh, rubbing it back and forth, gently. His leg hair rasped against Tony’s palm, the motion steady and soothing. “Either we can tell everyone, or they’ll find out on their own.” Steve felt the blunt pad of Tony’s finger against his hole. Tony kissed Steve’s knee. “I personally don’t mind a press conference. But that’s just me.” 

Steve loved many things about Tony, but one ranked above all the others – when Tony smiled, he did it with his entire face. It was warm and beautiful, and it fully distracted Steve from the sensation of Tony’s finger circling his hole, teasing its way inside. 

“I’d be happy to do whatever you wanted, though.” Tony leaned down and kissed a path up Steve’s thigh, his finger sliding in further. “Your sense of what’s right is much better than mine, baby.” 

A second finger slid in along the first, twisting, and it was not exactly what Steve would call comfortable. It wasn’t bad, but not necessarily good, either. Tony pressed hot kisses to the side of Steve’s softening cock and his fingers scissored. Steve couldn’t quite help it when he hissed. 

“Okay. It’s okay.” Tony’s fingers crooked at the same moment that he sucked the tip of Steve’s cock into his mouth, and suddenly the whole world flashed white hot when Tony touched something inside of him, some secret spot, a gift that seemed only to be meant for Tony. Steve bucked up off of the bed, shoving his cock further into Tony’s mouth because of it, and when he sank back down it was to the delicious feeling of Tony’s questing fingers. Steve rocked back and forth in the circle of sensation, riding Tony’s fingers and fucking his mouth. His balls drew up tight. 

“Tony, that’s enough. Please.” 

Tony let Steve’s cock slip from his mouth. “Since you asked nicely.” He took a pillow and held it between Steve’s legs. “Lift up a bit, baby.” Steve did as he was told, and Tony shoved the pillow under Steve’s hips. 

Tony crawled up to kiss Steve, bending Steve’s knees back as he leaned down. His erection pressed against Steve’s hip, and Steve’s belly swooped nervously; it suddenly seemed quite a bit bigger than it did before. Tony stripped Steve’s cock as he kissed him, hungry and desperate. Steve could taste the salt of his fluids on Tony’s tongue and felt the reactor digging down against his chest. 

Tony sat back, ripping the condom packet open and sliding it down his cock. He coated it generously with lube and lined up against Steve’s entrance. 

“Okay?” 

Steve nodded. Tony pressed in just a bit, leaning down and bracing his forearm one side of Steve’s head. Steve buried his face against Tony’s neck, the stretch and burn too intense to be pleasant. His cock wilted a bit and the feeling of failure started to wind tight in his chest.

Tony paused; he had to know this wasn’t working since Steve’s cock was softening in his hand. “Listen, honey, we don’t have to do this.”

“It’s just not exactly comfortable.” Disappointment washed over him; he’d envisioned this all playing out differently. Things like this never happened in those video clips he watched in the dark of his bedroom. “I messed this whole thing up for us. I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“Don’t feel badly. You know what we can do instead? We’ll plan our vengeance on Natasha. What do you say we sneak in her room and I suck you off on her desk?” 

Steve laughed. “Don’t be awful!” 

“No. That’s not awful. That’s not even _near_ awful. What do you say we go for Coulson’s desk? No! Even better! What better way to piss Fury off than for him to walk in on me kneeling under his desk, sucking your dick while you sit in his chair?”

Steve laughed harder. “My god, you truly know no bounds, don’t you?” 

Tony smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners, and god he was beautiful. 

And, apparently, his cock had slid in further while Steve was laughing. Tony circled it a bit, and then gave a shallow thrust, stroking Steve’s cock as he did so. It wasn’t terrible, and didn’t feel anywhere near as uncomfortable as before, and Steve hummed. 

“Yeah?” Tony said, thrusting harder and deeper this time. 

“Yeah.” Steve replied, a little breathless. 

Tony sat up and snapped his hips, hard, and grazed that area that made Steve’s nerves set off like a boatload of fireworks. Steve arched up sharply, twisting his hips down, trying to chase after that feeling. “Ah. Again. Harder.” 

Tony lifted Steve’s leg over his shoulder and thrust in deep, using one hand to hold himself up. Steve wrapped his hand around Tony’s thigh, pulling, tugging, trying to find his way to more. He used his leg for leverage, lifting himself up and sliding back down on Tony, and that’s when Tony’s hand found its way to Steve’s cock which was leaking all over his belly. 

With the hot slide of Tony’s cock inside of him, it only took three strokes before Steve was coming, shooting all over his chest, stomach, Tony’s hand, and even a little bit on his cheek. 

“Shit,” Tony cursed, burying himself to the hilt as he stilled and came. Steve felt the pulses inside of him before Tony pulled out, collapsing on his chest, boneless, breathless. The arc reactor dug uncomfortably into the skin between his pectorals, but he wasn’t about to try to move Tony. He didn’t want to, either. They were stuck together by Steve’s come and their sweat and that was really, really disgusting, but Steve found he quite liked it. He let Tony rest a while, feeling his pulse slow and his breathing even out.

Eventually Tony roused with a sharp intake of breath. He kissed Steve once and rolled to the side with a groan, peeling off the condom and tying it up before throwing it in the vicinity of the garbage can. “Sorry. Sex is fantastic and terribly gross at the same time.” 

“Yeah,” Steve rolled to the side of the bed and grabbed his bath towel off the floor which he’d discarded there earlier. “I sorta noticed that myself, but I didn’t want to wake you up.” He swiped at the dried come on his cheek. 

Tony wrinkled his nose. “We should shower.” 

“I’m with you on that.”

~*~

In the shower, Steve learned how good it felt to come between Tony’s soapy thighs, how hot Tony looked when he came from rubbing off against Steve’s groin, and how easy cleanup was with the water washing it all down the drain.

Definitely the best lesson he’d had to date.

~*~

It was only natural, then, that Tony took over Steve’s musical education. Steve already knew much of the classic rock of the 70s simply from passing the hours in Tony’s lab. AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Led Zepplin, Santana, Blood Sweat & Tears, Steve Miller Band, Grand Funk Railroad, David Bowie. It was as much a part of Tony as his suit – a backdrop to long hours spent welding, tinkering, and analyzing.

Steve also spent time exploring other types of music: the poignant _What’s Goin’ On_ by Marvin Gaye, the insightful lyrics of Carole King, and if anyone caught him dancing to the disco beats of _Car Wash_ , no one mentioned it to him (though Clint would smirk at him for some time after, nosy little spy). 

Clint took over the 80s and 90s, leading him through a maze of early and modern hip-hop, synthesizer pop, New Romantics, hair rock, grunge, alternative rock, pop punk, and to Steve’s delight, a revival of swing music. 

He only blushed a little when he heard the band name _Cherry Poppin’ Daddies_.

When it came to modern music, Steve took his lessons from Shawn - Ashley’s older brother. Shawn brought Ashley to Stark Mansion for her prosthesis fittings, though Steve had half a mind to believe that Ashley’s prosthesis was just fine and Tony was making it all up just so he could play with the little girl. 

The moment they walked through the door, Ashley would bound up into Tony’s arms and Shawn would head straight for Steve. “Hey Cap, got some new stuff for ya.” There wasn’t much about modern music that held Steve’s attention, truth be told, save for Florence + The Machine, Jack White, and much to everyone’s surprise, hip-hop. 

It wasn’t unusual to walk in on Steve punching the bags to Jay-Z and Kanye, Sugarhill Gang, Snoop Dog, Beastie Boys, or The Notorious B.I.G. When asked about his rumored love of hip-hop on a local radio station interview (set up by Fury as punishment for indecent acts performed in his office), Steve replied, “Of course I like hip-hop. Why wouldn’t I? I’m just a kid from Brooklyn, after all, and hip-hop came from the tough streets of New York City. We’ve got a lot in common.”

~*~

The first time Steve danced with Tony, they were alone in Tony’s lab. They’d been up for hours trying to resolve a programming problem with Tony’s suit which had been causing it to short out for sprints.

There really was not much Steve could do about it except to sit up with Tony while he tapped at screens, made snappish comments to JARVIS, and moved blueprints about with his fingers in the air. He also tried to calm Tony down when he started throwing tools around in frustration.

He grabbed Tony lightly by the wrist and pulled him into an embrace. That was always a gamble when Tony was angry, but one Steve thought would play out in his favor this time. Luckily, Tony seemed obliging and placed his hands on Steve’s hips. “I’ve got a song for you.”

“Yeah?” Tony still sounded defeated from the evening.

“Yeah. May I talk to JARVIS?”

“Of course you can. I programmed him to take commands from you weeks ago.” 

“Huh.” Steve waved off the bigger implications of that to focus on the original plan. “Well, in all the six decades of music that I’ve heard over the last few weeks, there’s one song in particular that reminds me of you.”

Tony’s eyebrows immediately shot up. “Oh?” he asked lasciviously. 

“Geez, no Tony, it’s not like that. Is that all you think about? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I know I’m not as good with the endearments and words of affection as you are, but I think this song says what I want to say to you. JARVIS, will you please play The Beatles’ _In My Life?_ ” 

“Of course, Captain Rogers.” 

The sound of George Harrison’s guitar notes filled the room, and Steve held up his left hand which was clasped around Tony’s right. Steve took a small step forward and Tony followed, allowing Steve to lead him in a slow dance.

_There are places I’ll remember/ All my life, though some have changed/_  
Some forever, not for better/ Some have gone, and some remain/  
All these places have their moments/ With lovers and friends I still can recall/  
Some are dead and some are living/ In my life, I’ve loved them all 

Steve pressed his cheek closer to Tony’s and pulled him tighter. Tony returned the embrace, fingers running the length of Steve’s back as they moved together.

_But of all these friends and lovers/ There is no one compares with you/_  
And these memories lose their meaning/ When I think of love as something new/  
Though I know I’ll never lose affection/ For people and things that went before/  
I know I’ll often stop and think about them/ In my life, I love you more. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony said against Steve’s ear. 

_Though I know I’ll never lose affection/ For people and things that went before/_  
I know I’ll often stop and think about them/ In my life, I love you more.  
In my life, I love you more. 

The song ended and they stopped moving. Tony stood in Steve’s arms, wordless, blinking rapidly. “This is how you feel about me?” 

“Yeah. The song is about the past and the present – and my present is you. I love you, Tony. You should know that, and I will say it often because we face a lot of danger, and, well. You never know.” 

Tony blinked and tears slipped down from the corners of his eyes. 

Steve pulled back a bit. “Uh, not quite the reaction I’d expected. I didn’t mean to upset you. Should I leave?”

“Steve, it’s okay,” Tony said with a thick voice. “I just – the sad truth is that no one has ever felt that strongly about me before.”

“Really? Not Pepper?”

“No. Her heart was never truly in the relationship. She loves me; I do know that, but never in that way. Same way that Rhodey loves me - as a friend. My mom loved me as a son. A plethora of people love me for my money. But this kind of love? This is a first for me.” 

“Well then. Anthony Edward Stark, with all my heart and soul, I love you.” Steve kissed the salty tears on Tony’s cheek. “I love you.” He leaned over and kissed the other side. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, baby.” Tony smiled and nodded to the pile of notes and blinking screens behind his shoulder. “Come sit with me a while. I’ve got more work to do.” 

The moment that followed repeated itself over the next three decades: Steve with his feet propped on the desk, working on a crossword puzzle; Dummy chirping softly in the corner; and Tony playing with wires and monitors, whispering endearments to Steve when he thought no one was looking. 

_Part Three: Peace on Earth_

“Ready yet?” Tony asks for the third time, peeking around the corner.

“Asking me a million times is not gonna get me out of the door any faster, Tony.” Steve checks his reflection again. 

“It wasn’t a million times. Three, to be exact.” Tony leans against the doorframe. “Are you trying to do that Jedi mind trick thing again where you stare at yourself in the mirror and will your hair to go from grey back to blond?” 

Yes, Steve thinks. One hundred percent. “Just trying to make sure I look halfway decent for our dinner. It’s not every day the mayor of New York recognizes citizens for a lifetime of contributions to the city. I don’t want to look,” _old_ “slovenly.” 

Tony turns Steve around and snakes his arms around Steve’s waist. “You mean you don’t want to look grey. You can’t pull one over on me after three decades. I know you’re hyper-aware of it, but you know what? You went grey and turned out as sexy as Paul Newman. I went half-grey and look like Pepe Le Pew. Now if you don’t mind, this skunk would like to take his hot boyfriend out and be on time for their dinner.” 

“Hot _elderly_ boyfriend?” 

“Stop fishing, baby.” 

“I’m not fishing. I just-” Steve stops short because he can’t say it out loud; Tony already knows, anyway. Because Tony always knows. 

“You don’t like your grey hair. I know you don’t. But I managed to _not_ stick my penis in anyone else for thirty-four years, so that should speak to how absolutely gorgeous you are, grey or blond, twenty-six or sixty. My penis exists only for you and your hot grey-haired self.” 

Steve huffs a laugh. “Was it really that difficult to keep your penis in check?” 

“With you trailing me around like a little puppy for all these years? Nah.” Tony kisses Steve’s temple. “You successfully cock-blocked every man and woman who tried to make a pass. You definitely took the ‘playboy’ part out of ‘genius playboy billionaire philanthropist’.” 

Steve pinches Tony’s side. “So sorry to cramp your style.” 

“Ow! Hey! No picking on your elders. These are the sacrifices you make to keep Captain America as your lover. And that’s one sacrifice I’m happy to make.” Tony covers Steve’s hand with his own, leans in for a kiss and lingers. His affection speaks volumes with every press of his lips. 

“Hey, guys, do you have a spare pair of cufflinks that I can borrow? I forgot mine at-” Peter Parker rounds the corner, cuffs dangling open at his wrists. He slaps a hand over his eyes. “Sweet baby Jesus, I did _not_ need to see that! Gross! Seriously! My eyes! You guys are old and wrinkly and loose skin and just _ew_!” 

Tony breaks apart from Steve but doesn’t let him go. “Listen up, sport, you’re not that much younger. You’ll be lining up with the rest of us for your AARP card.”

Peter peeks through his fingers. “Is it safe? Can I look yet? I’ll tell you what – if you have a spare set of cufflinks, just put them in my hand, okay?” 

Steve turns and opens the drawer that contains his random assortment of trinkets. In one square lies two pairs of cufflinks; he pulls them both out and places one set in Peter’s palm. 

“’Kthanksseeyathere.” Peter bolts out of the bathroom and through their bedroom. 

Steve opens up his palm and there lies the other set of links. The gold still shines and the design is as stunning as the day he received them. 

Tony looks down, regarding them quietly. “You should wear those tonight.” 

“I will. Of course I will.” 

Tony’s silence is as palpable as the memory. “I’ll leave you to finish. Let’s go soon, yeah? We need to make amends to Peter for our unwanted displays of elderly affection.” 

Steve kisses Tony once. “Be right there.” 

When Tony walks out, Steve snaps the links in place. He hasn’t worn them in about ten years – not since Ashley’s wedding. They gleam at his wrist, a warm rose gold. 

In the middle of a gold setting is a glossy emblem divided in half: half arc-reactor, half Steve’s shield. 

They were Tony’s gift to him thirty-five Christmases ago.

~*~

By the time midnight rolled around on Christmas Eve, it looked like Christmas had thrown up on Stark Mansion. Thor had tossed Mjolnir through Tony’s aquarium (no fish were harmed; Steve made sure of that). Coulson apparently couldn’t handle Bruce’s potent weed and lay snoring in the armchair with orange cheesy puffs strewn across his belly. Clint had passed out on top of the bookcase after shooting suction-cup mistletoe arrows at everyone for two hours. Natasha had taken over the D.J. booth and was mixing _Christmas in Hollis_ with _Baby It’s Cold Outside_. Bruce was slow dancing with Maria Hill to Natasha’s odd mix, gaining raised eyebrows from everyone, and Tony – well. Tony was blazing drunk.

He threw his arm around Steve’s neck too hard and leaned down heavily. “Hey baby. Merry _hic_ Christmas.” His breath reeked of scotch. “Do you know want to want – I mean, do you know what I want for Christmas? Hm?” 

Steve tensed up with irritation and shrugged Tony off his shoulder; Tony stumbled over and thumped to the floor on his side. Ice cubes and amber liquid from his glass spread over the carpet. Maybe Steve should’ve felt bad for not handling Tony more carefully, but seeing him this sloppy made him really just not care. “What?” Steve snapped.

“Whoa, crankypants! Come down here and I’ll tell you, Capzilla. Come on,” Tony motioned for Steve to come down to the floor. 

Steve was caught between walking away and indulging Tony. Walking away was truly what he wanted to do; he vibrated with anger at how Tony lacked control of his body and his mouth. 

But Tony Stark wasn’t all roses and kittens. Steve knew this. Tony came with alcohol, insecurities and disorders, and it was just a matter of time before Steve would have to face it - so he readied himself for whatever fight was bound to happen and kneeled down next to Tony on the floor. 

Tony leaned over, propped himself up on one elbow, and traced his fingers up Steve’s arm. “This is what I really want for Christmas, baby. I want you naked on that sofa right there, loosened up and ready for me to fuck you. I want to slam into you and hear you moan for it. I want to pull out and come on your tongue and over your lips. I want to lick my own come off of your chin and feed it to you. Then I want you to fuck my face so hard that my jaw aches for days.” He reached down and grabbed Steve’s crotch, giving it a firm squeeze. “And I don’t give a fuck who watches.” 

Steve yanked Tony’s hand away, pulled him up on his feet and used his super-strength to haul Tony’s heavy, drunken weight down the hallway. 

“Oh! You want it! Didn’t think you would but hey, sometimes Santa surprises me. I guess I’m on the nice list but who _hic_ knew because what I did to you last night was awfully naughty-”

When Steve covered up Tony’s mouth with his hand, Tony started nibbling on his fingers. Suddenly Steve could see why so people in this era enjoy the eye-rolling thing. 

One of Clint’s arrows thwacked Steve’s back as he rounded the corner; Steve hadn’t even noticed at what point Clint had woken up. “Merry Christmas Captain!” Clint called after them. “I’m sure Tony’s got a big package for you - _ow_ , Tash, that hurt! For fuck’s sake!” 

“Oh, have I got a big package for you, baby,” Tony giggled as Steve and slammed the door closed and deposited him on the bed. “Oo, testy. Come on. It’s Christmas. Be cheerful. Come spread some of that Christmas cheer on my dick.” Tony rubbed his hand over his crotch. 

“I’ll be ready to spread Christmas cheer tomorrow. Loudly. While you have a raging headache,” Steve said as he crawled up the bed. 

Tony unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off. “C’mere,” he said. “Let me show you what Santa has for you. I’ve got a special candy cane for you to lick.” 

“Jesus, Tony. Shut up. Just, please shut up.” Steve lay down alongside Tony who immediately slid his hand down Steve’s back to grope his ass. Steve removed Tony’s hand from his asscheek, grabbed him and flipped him over so he was spooning him. He threw his arm and leg over Tony and used his strength to pin Tony down. If Steve couldn’t control Tony’s mouth, he certainly could control Tony’s body.

Tony wriggled. "Oh, come on! This is hardly fair! This is non-consensual cuddling. JARVIS? Help!”

JARVIS remained blessedly silent. 

“Let me go, you fucking lab rat. That's all you are. Another one of my father’s toys." He shoved at Steve’s arm. “Let. Me. Go.” 

"Nope. You're drunk, crude, and belligerent, and I'm not having it. You're the last person I want to have this fight with, Tony. When was the last time I insulted you? When was the last time I called you a name because I was unhappy with you?" 

Tony stopped struggling and deflated. "Never. You would never do that. God. You must hate me. Even _I_ hate me a little bit right now." 

Steve tightened his grip a bit. "Now's not the right time to discuss this. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

Tony's hand covered his own. "How do you put up with me? Hm?" His voice was tired. Defeated. 

"Because I know this isn't truly how you are. And I don't hate you. Now go to sleep." He kissed the back of Tony's neck and slid his hand over Tony's chest, tracing under the reactor. 

"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." Steve felt Tony's back hitch. When Tony cried, he always tried to keep it silent and secret. Steve laced his fingers through Tony's. 

He held Tony for two silent minutes until Tony was snoring softly, back rising and falling with a deep sleep. 

Tomorrow was going to be difficult.

~*~

When Steve woke up the next morning, Tony was laying half on top of him, arm flung over his chest, breath fanning hotly against his neck.

Steve ran his fingers through Tony's hair and kissed him square on the forehead. "Merry Christmas, Tony!" he said loudly. 

"Hm," Tony breathed, squinting against consciousness. "Whuzzat?" he said against Steve's shoulder. 

"I said Merry Christmas." Steve rolled Tony on his back and straddled his hips. "What's the matter, Scrooge? Too much eggnog?" 

"Do not want," Tony said with a scratchy voice, shoving at Steve’s thighs. “Get off.” 

"Wow. It almost seems like you got sloppy drunk last night, said crude things to me, called me names, and then passed out. Oh, wait! Haha! How do they say it again – my bad! That _is_ what happened, isn't it?" 

Tony slid his hands over his eyes. "Coffee first. Please. JARVIS, save me." 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," said JARVIS. "If you'd like your coffee, you'll have to get up and get it yourself. A pot is already brewed in the kitchen. Merry Christmas, sir." 

"I hate you, JARVIS. Seriously. Most useless AI ever." Tony pulled his hand from his eyes, blinked against the sunlight and looked up at Steve. "Come here," he said gently. He pulled Steve down to his chest and the arc reactor pressed hard against Steve’s face, but he wasn't about to move, not with Tony's heart beating solidly against his cheek. "I'm sorry, Steve." His words ruffled Steve's hair as he spoke them. 

"I know you are."

"I mean it, you know." 

"I know you do." 

Tony massaged the back of Steve's neck. "So, time to be honest. Sometimes I get drunk. Sometimes I say terrible things. I shouldn't, and I regret it the moment it leaves my mouth, but then it's out there, and everyone thinks, 'Well that's Tony Stark for you!' They expect me to be this drunken fuckup. And I hate Christmas. Jesus Christ, do I hate Christmas. So the more scotch I drink, the farther away it gets and I don't have to deal with it. Not really. The drunken fuckup version of Tony Stark gets to deal with it. And I'd rather let him face this fucking holiday than me." 

"Why do you hate Christmas so much?" Steve ran his hands under Tony's shirt, resting them on the soft skin just under his ribs. 

"Too many of them spent alone.”

“Even when you were a kid?”

Tony looked outside at the fresh-fallen snow. “Yep.” 

Steve didn’t press that point any farther. “It doesn’t have to be like that. We can make Christmas however we want it to be.” 

In silence, Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders and squeezed. His heartbeat picked up and he started tracing the muscles of Steve’s back. Steve thought of all the Christmases he’d spent with his mother, radio crackling softly in the background as he helped decorate gingerbread cookies. 

“Maybe we could try cooking dinner tonight,” Steve said.

Tony barked a laugh. “Me? Cook? You can’t be serious.” He looked at Steve’s face. “Oh god, you are. Do you even know what you’re asking for? The last time I tried to cook, Dummy went through three fire extinguishers. _Three_ , Steve.”

Steve sat up. “That’s it. It’s decided. We’re cooking tonight,” he asserted. “You’re lucky that I know my way around a kitchen. Just be prepared to take orders.” 

“Mm. I like it when you get all bossy.” Tony said. He laced his fingers through Steve’s. "You know, I do have a gift for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. And I'd say you've been a very good boy." 

Tony stretched over to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and handed Steve a little box shoddily wrapped in jagged red paper. "I wrapped that myself, just so you know. I can't remember the last time I touched gift wrap. I have a department that handles that sort of stuff, but this one I wanted to do myself." 

"Thanks," Steve said, examining the paper that was held together with approximately one hundred tiny pieces of tape. "You did a fantastic job." 

"Quit gawking and open it." Tony leaned forward, his bloodshot eyes focused on Steve's hands. 

Steve ripped the paper open to reveal a small white box. He slid off the lid and lying on top of a piece of white satin was a pair of cufflinks. Their metal shone a warm rose shade of gold, and the circular setting held a glossy emblem: half arc-reactor, half Steve's shield.

Tony crawled over, plucked one from the box and held it closer for Steve to see. "I made them myself. JARVIS helped me design the center, and the gold came from two of my mother's necklaces." 

Steve turned to face Tony. "What? You gave me your mother's necklaces?" 

"Well, obviously I'm not going to be giving them to a wife like she wanted me to, so I took them to my lab, made a cast setting for the links, melted down the gold, and here they are." 

Steve pictured Tony with a blowtorch and goggles taking meticulous care to melt down his mother's jewelry so that he could make a gift for Steve. He felt his throat thicken. 

"Stop blinking like that, baby. Come here." Tony pulled Steve in, and there was no stopping the tears that spilled onto Tony’s shirt. “I’m glad you like the cufflinks.” 

All the feelings in the world seemed to be at war in his chest, so the best he could do was to splutter, “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” 

Tony kissed the top of his head. “You’re welcome. They’ll look fantastic on you." 

Steve wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I have something for you, too." 

Tony leaned back, smiling. "You do?"

"Yeah." Steve ran his hand over his face. Tony's gift was full of thought and meaning; Steve felt shame curl up in his chest. "You should know, though, that when it came time to think about what to get for you, I sort of forgot to set aside money for Christmas. Well, I guess I forgot to save any money at all." 

A look of concern washed over Tony's face. "Steve? What did you do with all of your money? I mean I know SHIELD is giving you a check, but you really shouldn't trust any email from the Prince of Nigeria asking for money-”

Best to say it quickly, Steve thought, like tearing off a band aid. "I donated my salary to the New York-Presbyterian Children's Hospital." 

Tony smiled. "I don't think I've heard anything more Steve Rogers-like in my entire life. Including all the stories my father told me." 

"So I didn't have any money to buy you something, but I did pick something up for you." Steve backed off the bed and slid on a shirt and jeans. "Stay right here." 

"Not moving." 

When Steve returned several minutes later, he figured he'd better have a cup of Tony's strong black coffee in hand. Tony was going to need it when he saw Steve's gift. 

He entered the bedroom with a giant mug of steaming coffee in one hand, and in the other he held cradled to his chest a tiny black kitten. It mewed and clawed at his tee shirt. "I picked her up at the animal shelter. It turns out that the lady who was helping me there was inside the bank that I saved from the chitauri, and she waived the adoption fee. So, here she is. Merry Christmas, Tony." 

Tony stared wide-eyed at the kitten who was trying to scale Steve's chest. He looked more scared of the kitten than he’d been of any of the enemies they fought. "That's an animal. You're giving me an animal? You trust me to care for a living being?" 

"Uh, yeah. It's not hard. You give her food and water every day and clean her litter-box. It’s easy. Ouch!" The kitten decided to hold on for dear life by digging her claws into Steve's shoulder.

"Does this mean I have to touch animal shit?"

"You use a scooper. Honestly, it’s nowhere near as difficult as you’re making it out to be.” Steve placed the kitten on the bed and she immediately hurdled over the covers, face-planting twice when she tripped. She jumped up on Tony’s chest and started pawing at the blue light of the reactor shining through Tony’s shirt. 

Tony looked down at her and his face softened. “I suppose I could use a mascot.” He reached down and scratched the top of her head. The kitten closed her eyes, tilted her head up, and started purring. “Listen to that. It’s got a little motor and everything.” She sniffed at Tony’s fingers then butted his hand with her face. “Aww.” When he smiled down at the kitten, his entire face lit up.

If only the world knew that snarky, tough-guy Tony Stark melted for cute five-year-old girls and kittens.

~*~

Tony decided the kitten would live in his lab. The plastic litter-box that Steve brought home wouldn’t do, of course. He designed a box that would immediately scoop any clumps with a tiny mechanized rake and shovel it down a chute, followed by a blast of air freshener.

He named her Felis Catus, but when people asked, he simply said, “Her name’s Cat.” 

Cat had her own mansion in the corner of the lab. It was filled with rooms, scratching posts, poles, pedestals, ladders that went as high as the ceiling and robotic toys that moved when she came near. She had climbing ledges that ran the length of the lab. The redesign only took Tony twelve hours to complete (there was no stopping him once he started, so Steve stayed on coffee duty for that evening). 

When Bruce saw it, he complained that Cat’s quarters were bigger than his own. Steve thought her tiny waterfall drinking fountain was, in all fairness, a bit over-the-top. If she wasn’t the most spoiled kitten the world, then certainly the most in New York City. 

Over the next several days, they’d walk down the stairs to the lab to find her curled up, fast asleep in the bucket seat of one of Tony’s race cars. 

While Tony was working on the day of New Year’s Eve, she tried to hop up and paw at the virtual design he was manipulating with his fingers. “Dammit, Cat, it’s not enough that I built you a two-hundred-thousand dollar mansion complete with AI laser beams that have figured out how to play with you? You have to come over here and fuck with me? You just swiped away half of my design for Stark Industries’ new floor plan. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

Cat looked up at him then starting batting at his fingers. 

Steve picked her up. “You do realize she can’t understand you, right?” 

“Oh. Yes she can.” Tony stroked down her back. “She’s a bad little thing - evil black cat to the core. She knows every word I'm saying. Look at that look on her face." Cat blinked at him with round green eyes. "She's mocking me. You see that? Pure evil." 

Steve placed her in her mansion where she began to paw at a dangling feather that was wiggling from a ledge. 

"I never said thank you," Tony said with his back to Steve, expanding and manipulating his design in the air. "For Cat, I mean." 

"I knew you meant to." Steve leaned back down to work on the old Ford Roadster. 

Tony rolled his stool across to Steve and placed a hand on Steve's thigh. "Thank you for Cat. And for, you know." Tony rolled his eyes. "Putting up with my shenanigans and all that." 

Steve ran his hand up Tony's neck, tilted up his chin, and cupped his face with the other hand. Tony made a surprised huff when Steve's lips crashed down on his own. Steve kissed him long and hard, licking into Tony’s mouth, then pulling back to place one gentle kiss to Tony's lips before returning his attention to the Roadster. 

"Don't underestimate yourself, Stark. You make a mean baked ham. I suppose I'll keep you around if you keep cooking like that." 

Tony blinked away his blissed-out daze from the kiss and went back to his design, Steve fixed the Roadster's broken fuel pump, and Cat only messed up the floor plans one more time when she scampered across Tony's keyboard. Christmas might not have been perfect, but it certainly felt right to Steve. 

After all, tonight was the black-tie New Year’s party at Stark Industries, and they’d decided it would be their first night out as a couple. 

Good thing he had the perfect cufflinks to wear.

Part Four: Compulsion

_Shaking, Steve flings aside bloodied concrete blocks, purpled hands, twisted bumpers, crushed car doors and severed limbs. Night closes in around him; shadows crawl up skyscrapers and invade every corner. It's more of an enemy to him than the ones he just defeated. Blood pounds in his ears, a thrum so firm and loud that he barely hears the Hulk roaring next to him. Desperation fuels every movement. In this terrifying moment, he has no plan of attack - that part of his brain that sees strategy is shut off, consumed by panic. All that runs through his mind is_ find him, where is he, oh god, oh god, no, no no... _He looks up to see Thor throwing aside fallen stones, the Hulk chucking entire boulders, but they have not seen that glint of red armor. The only red he sees lines the streets - shining, thick and sickly, still dripping from crushed corpses._

_"Hey," Thor says to him, and fury winds through Steve's body that he's stopped searching. "Hey, Steve."_

_Steve straightens, his back howling bloody murder from having been bent for so long. "How dare you stop," Steve growls. "How dare you give up on him?"_

_"Steve, wake_ up _," Thor says._

_And that's strange, because it's not really Thor's voice, nor is it how he talks – since when does Thor call him ‘Steve’?_

Steve blinks open his eyes and looks up at Tony's looming face. It must still be night as the only light is the blue glow of Tony’s reactor. Relief floods over his body. He doesn't realize how tensed his muscles are until the panic dissipates and he falls back limply against his pillow. 

"Having that dream again?" Tony's fingers slide through his hair. His voice is rough with sleep. 

Steve reaches out and clasps Tony's hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses each knuckle. He takes his time with it; Tony’s delicate, dry skin against his lips grounds him - brings him back into reality. 

“Guess so.” Tony lies back and pulls Steve to his chest, wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders. 

Steve settles in and places his cheek on Tony's chest, skin still sleep-warm. 

"Ouch, you’re hurting my nipple! Move your cheek up a bit. That’s better.” Tony’s beard scratches against Steve’s forehead. “Now, remember the time when we went to Mexico and you forgot your sunblock?" 

Steve huffs a laugh. It's a distraction, but he knows it will work. "Of course."

"Tell me about it." Tony splays his fingers between Steve's shoulder blades. 

Steve traces Tony's ribs and the soft skin of his belly as he recalls their vacation. He spent hours on the beach kicking around a soccer ball with a horde of small children at his heels, each one trying unsuccessfully to steal the ball until Steve pretended that the smallest child had bested him. Tony had watched the entire thing from under an umbrella, sipping on a margarita, toasting Steve’s decision to let the tiny boy shout his victory. Only when Steve looked at himself in the mirror later that night did he notice that his face, shoulders and chest had turned from slightly pink to an alarming shade of red. They went to the local farmacía to dig up some aloe but of course, trouble found its way to them. Steve walked out to find Tony backed into a corner by six men who were jeering and laughing, and although Tony looked hardly bothered, Steve knew that Tony’s suit was all the way back at the hotel. Two minutes later, six men lay on the cobblestone street panting, moaning, and bloodied. Steve's knuckles were bruised and his left shin scraped, but at least the aloe was still safe, dangling from the plastic bag around his wrist. 

By the time he's done telling the story, Tony is snoring softly, his arm draped over Steve's back. The rise and fall of Tony's chest pulls him back into the present, away from the events that happened three decades ago. Tony is here under his cheek. Not lost. No longer buried.

The nightmare seems distant as sleep finds Steve once more.

~*~

Steve sat back against the graffiti-covered wall of the nail shop. The barbecue potato chips that he ate coated his mouth in grease and salt. They were disgusting - something he normally wouldn't touch except there was no fresh food left in Manhattan and he had to eat _something_ to keep up with his metabolism. So he picked at the spread laid out in front of the team: chips, Hostess pastries, granola bars, and beef jerky. The metal nail polish caddy hung askew when he looked up; several bottles remained, but many lay cracked on the floor underneath. Spatters of nail polish stretched everywhere - red, pink, purple, blue, glittery - and all of them were better than what lie outside.

The streets were splattered with blood. Some of it was crusted and dark, and some dripped fresh and bright, but all of it happened because of the outbreak. A week and a half ago, seven people were admitted to two New York hospitals with flu-like symptoms. Those seven rose from their beds after dying and promptly bit everyone they came into contact with, creating a small army of flesh-eating, shuffling dead people. 

Tony tossed a packet of Twinkies at Steve’s feet. 

Steve smiled. “Ha! Zombieland!" He tore it open and pulled out the spongy yellow cakes. 

"Good job, baby," Tony said around a mouthful of brown Hostess cupcake. "Just remember, team, rule number two: double tap. Got it, everyone? Anyone? Tasha? Something d-o-o economics. Voodoo economics."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "We've been at this for seven days now, Stark. I think I've got it." 

"Do you really need to make a movie reference every fifteen minutes?" Clint asked as he chucked aside an empty Goldfish packet. 

"Hey, you know, that's littering, Neytiri. And here I thought you cared about Pandora and the seeds of Ewya and all that hippie shit.” 

"Not like there's anyone left to care," Clint said as he picked up a bottle of OPI's Black Onyx. 

"It is true, then?" Thor asked. "Everyone has fled the isle?" 

"Last report that I heard through the comm was about a half hour ago while I was gathering our dinner.” Steve waved a hand at the pile of junk food. “Fury’s voice wavered in and out, but I managed to piece it together. He said that the only people left on Manhattan are shufflers. It's us and them, and they don’t like to cross water, so they’re contained." 

"How many?" Clint asked. No one answered immediately as he had started applying the black polish to his nails. "What? It looks cool." 

Several moments of awkward silence passed, broken only by Tony's cough. 

Steve spoke up but his eyes were still fixed on Clint’s black nails. "Uhm. Fury said there's approximately five thousand." 

"Five thousand of them, and five of us?" Bruce asked. “We can’t handle those numbers.” He was still naked after de-Hulking a half-hour ago.

“We can handle it. No problem. And man I don’t mean to be _that_ guy, but I can still see your testicles and it’s making me feel like maybe I shouldn’t know that you have a few grey hairs. You know. Down there,” Tony said as he placed his patch over the reactor’s light; it was getting dark outside. Electricity had been gone for a week and they’d agreed to shut down any light at night as to not attract the shufflers. 

“I’m on first watch tonight. If I have to let the Other Guy out in a few minutes, then what’s the point of putting on clothes?” 

“No one cares, Bruce. Ignore him. Dammit, I fucked up my nail!” Clint grabbed a manicure tool from the table above his head and started scraping at the stray paint along the skin next to his nail. 

Natasha snatched the tool out of Clint’s hand, examined it, and jammed it in her belt. 

“The fuck, Tash!” Clint protested.

“I could use this later. It’ll go nicely jammed in some shuffler’s eye.” 

"Captain," Thor said. "Perhaps now would be a good time to agree upon a plan for tomorrow. If there are five thousand of these wretched creatures, I know not how we will defeat them, regardless of how easily they are killed." 

Steve considered it. "We do need to figure out a way to get rid of them all at once. We could contain them in an enclosed area."

"Were this possible, we would need access to a weapon far greater than our guns, hammers and shields," Thor added.

"You're right about that." Steve looked at Tony. "Tony? Any ideas?" 

"Well, if we can get up to my lab, I could cook us up some explosives." 

Everyone's eyes glinted. "Of course we can," Clint said, taking a breath to blow on his nails. "Field trip. Sounds like fun." 

"Okay. So we have a weapon. Now we need a place to bring them down," Steve said after polishing off the last bit of Twinkie. 

Tony glanced out of the window, across the street. "How 'bout a parking garage?" 

The garage was five stories high and enclosed by metal grating - perfect for containing five thousand shufflers. 

"We'd need bait to get them all inside of the structure." 

Everyone turned and looked at Bruce.

"Alright, alright, I get it. Not like the Other Guy can't handle a few bites." He stood up and everyone promptly looked away. "So all of you can handle headless corpses and slimy intestines but no one can take a bit of penis? I see how it is." He strolled outside and with a flash of green, the Hulk stood guarding the salon's door. 

"What happens after the Hulk leads them up the ramp, Cap?" Natasha asked. 

"Tony flies in and plants the explosives." 

"I’ll attach them, and then Clint, I'd need you to hit the last one with your exploding tip arrow after I give the signal." Tony looked at Steve. "Then, boom. The structure will collapse, and that’ll be the end of the shufflers." 

The silence that followed served as acceptance by all. 

Steve stretched his aching muscles. "Okay everyone. Same order as before. Bruce has first watch, then Clint, Thor, Natasha, me, and Tony. We switch every hour. Get some sleep. We have a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow." 

Later that night Steve moved over and laid his head in Tony's lap and Tony began stroking his hair. 

They took their small comforts where they could.

~*~

By the time morning came, eight more zombies lay dead in front of the salon thanks to the Hulk’s fists, Natasha’s machete, Clint’s arrow and Steve’s shield which was sharpened around the edges – the perfect flying zombie head-chopper. As he stepped to the curb, Steve was glad to know the end was so very near; he wanted his own bed, a hot shower, and to sleep a full night's sleep. He longed for Manhattan to spring back to life. So many tragedies had befallen the city; each rebuild took time and effort, but New Yorkers were anything if not resilient. They would rebound from this as well.

The light-blue horizon was broken by a line of pink and then shined orange-yellow as the sun peeked over. The team quietly suited up; the salon filled with sounds of leather creaking, utility belts buckling, Tony’s suit clamping into place, and the _zip_ of clothing. Determination hardened every face in the room.

When they stepped into the streets four shufflers moved toward them; torn, filthy clothes hung from their grey withered bodies. With brittle limbs they reached forward and groaned. One had thin brown hair, face gaunt and five missing teeth. Another had a tendril of intestine hanging from its mouth. The third wore a designer dress and a fake blonde hairpiece that dangled from her scalp. The fourth was missing an arm.

Tony raised his palms immediately and took out the first two with repulsors to the head. Clint fired an arrow through the eye socket of the woman in the dress and its tip tangled in her fake blonde hair. Thor spun and threw Mjolnir at the fourth; the shuffler’s head fell backwards, dangling on its back by a few tendons. Blood spurted up in the air from its neck.

As if a part of some grotesque show, all four bodies simultaneously collapsed forward to the pavement with a sickening thump. 

“Hah! Synchronized gymnastics!” Tony shouted. “I give them an eight. Only a five from the Russian judge? Shocking.” 

Steve fixed Tony with a glare.

“Alright, alright sassypants. Let’s keep going. Gotta make it to Stark Mansion in time for _The Price Is Right_ if we’re planning on having this done by _Modern Family_ time." 

They kept to the center of Fifth Avenue, fighting any shufflers along the way. A pair of them stood on the sidewalk and moved toward them, groaning. They wore ratty "I ♥ New York" shirts, cameras still strapped around their necks, fanny packs dangling open. They were tourists, Steve thought, just trying to visit the Statue of Liberty or to see a Broadway show. 

Natasha ran to the right, jumped up swiftly on one zombie's back and jammed the manicure tool into its eye. Blood spurted over the sidewalk. The other shuffler screeched, a horrible rattling noise sounding from its throat, and reached for Natasha's leg. Steve threw his shield; it spun in a flurry of red, white, and blue before slicing the other's head off cleanly. It fell heavily on its side. "Thanks, Cap," Natasha said as she dismounted and kicked the corpse to the ground. 

He looked down at the first body lying half in the gutter, tool sticking from its eye socket. A steady stream of blood trickled onto the concrete. This was someone's son. Someone's brother. They were probably from Des Moines or Omaha or Fort Wayne. They probably had barbecues on the Fourth of July and saved their pennies to send their kids to college, and now they lay dead in the street. Everyone else seemed only to see monsters to kill but Steve still struggled with shutting down the part of his brain that wondered what their wedding might have been like or if they owned a pet that was going hungry.

The team continued for a half-hour like that, taking out those who crossed their paths. At one point they encountered a shuffler bent over a days-old corpse that was bloated and stank to the high heavens. 

Peculiar, Steve thought. If it’s eating dead flesh, it must be starved.

When they approached, the zombie looked up at them; its face dripped red. It groaned and something dark and slimy slipped from its mouth. The Hulk bounded over and Steve looked away before he smashed in its head. 

Finally Stark Mansion loomed before them. The summer sun bore down on the back of Steve's neck; beads of sweat trickled from under the mask. In front of the mansion, close to sixty zombies shambled around the front door. Some scratched at the oak doors with bony grey fingers. Some clawed at the panels of the bay window. Others wandered in an aimless pattern, mouths open and eyes vacant. The humid air was rank with the smell of rotting flesh.

One shuffler wearing a dirt-crusted suit turned and fixed its stare on them. A sound came from its throat, low and gravely: _ahhhhh_. Sixty dead faces looked in their direction. Steve's heart jumped to his throat and he threw his shield, severing the head of the zombie in the suit. 

Tony stepped in front and fired both repulsors while ten ballistic missiles launched from an opening in the suit's shoulder. Twelve zombies fell to the ground and a line of others worked their way forward. Mjolnir beheaded one that was attempting to bite Natasha while she straddled the back of another zombie, lopping its head off with her machete. Steve ran between seas of dead fingers as the Hulk cleared a path for him, knocking any zombie down who tried to touch him. With the shield in hand, he found himself standing directly in front of the mansion's door and a pattern became clear to him: throw, bank, chop. He banked the shield off of the mansion's doors; it rebounded and sliced off the closest zombie head. 

Tony's mask flipped up - his comm system had been broken for two days. "Oh come ON, Steve!" he shouted as he flew just above the zombies. One grabbed at his foot and he took its head off with a large knife that sprang out of the toe of his boot. "That's our front door. Be a little careful." 

"Work your way toward the door and Hulk and I will work our way out. We've nearly got them surrounded." 

"Hey, Stark. Wanna give me a lift?" Clint pointed up toward a balcony across the street. 

"I should start charging you fare, I swear to god. And you look like the rejected member of Panic at the Disco with those nails." Tony dropped down and wrapped an arm around Clint's waist. “Alright, Romeo, to Juliet's balcony we go." 

They corralled the remaining shufflers. By the time it was all said and done, a circle of withered grey bodies lay limp in the street. 

"Cleanup's gonna be a bitch." Tony said, looking down at the mass. "And you're paying for that door, Rogers. None of this 'I'm impoverished and here’s a kitten because I'm caring for every cancer kid ever' shit." 

"Says the guy who secretly builds prostheses for said kids and donates, oh, I don't even know how many hundreds of thousands of dollars to-"

“Shhhh!” Tony held out a red suit-covered finger. “I have an image to uphold. How will anyone believe that I’m a money-squandering playboy if you’re out there dropping numbers about my donations?”

“Are you kidding me? We just opened up a brand new wing for the veteran’s hospital _together_. Of course people know that you-” 

“Uh, guys, I don’t mean to interrupt, but time’s ticking,” Bruce said. He stood behind them all, hands on his hips and completely naked. Steve had to admit the image of Bruce’s bits dangling was disconcerting, no matter how many times he’d seen it. 

“Christ, it’s like he’s the naked ninja,” Tony said as he removed a gauntlet and swiped the pad next to the door. "I'm bringing a modesty patch for you next time, big guy. Be prepared." 

“Welcome home, Mr. Stark,” JARVIS’ voice said as the doors swung open. "The temperature is 90 degrees Fahrenheit, 96 according to the heat index. The Dow, S&P and NASDAQ remain closed due to the small zombie apocalypse. No creatures have broken into the premises. Congratulations to yourself and the Avengers on the glorious defeat on Fifth Avenue, especially to Ms. Romanoff, who killed twelve zombies by my count." 

"Thanks, JARVIS. Your crush on her is truly creepy. Remind me to reprogram you without the part where you think you’ve got game." Tony took off his other gauntlet, clapped twice and called, "Daddy's home!" All manner of monitors lit up around the room. "Thank god for the reactor. Stark Mansion’s the only place with power. Take a load off guys. I'll be back up before Bruce can say penis." 

Steve followed Tony down the stairs to the lab. Tony stopped him, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist. The angle was odd since Steve was standing one step above Tony and towered over him, but he bent down to kiss Tony anyway. Only when his lips touched Tony's did he realize that they hadn't kissed for days and he missed the feel of Tony’s lips, Tony’s beard scratching around his mouth, Tony’s tongue touching his. “Want some help?” he said between kisses.

"It’s okay. Really, I got this, baby," Tony said, pushing at Steve's chest. "Dummy can help me. I'll be done before you know it. You go up there and relax, okay? Go cook up some of those fantastic omelettes. We finally have access to fresh food. The team will be eating out of your hand. Not that they should, though, because you haven’t showered in like a week and we’ve been fighting non-stop and just, that’s gross.” 

Steve leaned down and sniffed deeply at Tony’s neck. “And you smell like peaches and cream.” 

“Stop with the neck thing. You’re gonna give me a boner, then you’ll have to suck me off, and before you know it all five thousand zombies will be waiting for us outside the door and then where will we be? Now go so that I can get some work done.” 

Steve kissed Tony once more and bounded back up the stairs. Better check and see if the eggs were still good.

~*~

The only sounds that filled the dining area were the sounds of forks scraping plates and six mouths chewing.

"Good stuff, Cap," Natasha said after swallowing the last of her omelette. "You never fail to make breakfast an acceptable meal at any time of day." 

"Thanks, Natasha. Speaking of time." Steve looked up at the digital display on the wall. "We need to head back out soon if we're going to execute the parking garage plan today." 

"Can't we just stay the night?" Clint said as he tilted his chair back on two legs. "I mean, these zombies aren't going anywhere. Cap said there are no more humans here besides us. And I kinda want to watch _Breaking Bad_ tonight." 

"What is it with you and Walter White? I didn't realize you were into bald old men," Tony said with a mouthful of eggs. "Anyway, Steve's right. We need to head out as soon as possible. If we wait any longer, every single one of those five thousand zombies will congregate outside of Stark Mansion. They're out of living flesh to eat and I’ve seen them feasting on other dead zombies, so that pile of dead shufflers is like filet mignon is right outside of our front door. We're gonna have to get a move on." 

Clint picked up his quiver. "Alright. Let's head out then."

"And you accused _me_ of pop culture addiction." Tony punched Clint's shoulder. "Name your top three shows." 

Clint stood and started checking the arrows in his quiver. "That's a tough call. I'd have to go with _Breaking Bad_ , _Dexter_ , and _Game of Thrones_." 

Tony paused and regarded Clint quietly for several seconds. "You are full of shit, my friend. You watch _So You Think You Can Dance_ religiously. Don't try to pull one over on me. I know everything that happens in this house. It’s by far your favorite show. Admit it." 

Clint remained silent. 

"Who's your favorite choreographer?"

Clint mumbled. 

"Sorry? Come again?"

"I said, _Sonya_." 

"Good man," Tony said. "See? Being honest with yourself is half the battle." 

"Stark?" Clint asked.

"Yeah?"

"Shut the fuck up. We need to leave." 

"Right. Got it. Zombie killing we go! I should call Romero now and see if he wants the rights. I could make a _killing_ off of this."

~*~

It turned out that Tony’s filet mignon comment wasn't far from the truth. By the time they walked outside, a mass of new shufflers had descended on the pile of dead bodies, gnawing and tearing at them with noisy, ratting groans. Thick puddles of blood streamed down to the gutters. When the team stepped to the sidewalk, two dozen pairs of vacant eyes fixed on them.

A flurry of arrows, two green fists, a flying hammer and shield, a swinging machete and repulsor jets added more zombies to the pile of rotting bodies. 

Steve pulled down his mask and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Alright," he said. "We're gonna have to lead these zombies to the parking garage so that the Hulk and Tony can do their work. That means we're gonna have to break up. Thor, I want you to hit the farthest neighborhoods: Inwood, Washington Heights and Hamilton Heights. Natasha, I want you to take one of the mopeds up to Harlem and the Upper East Side. Clint, take the other one and head to the Upper West Side and Midtown. Tony, go ahead and fly, but take it slowly and not too high off the ground. Take off your helmet so the shufflers can catch your scent. I want you to take the West Village, Soho, Tribeca, and the Financial District. Hulk, head down to Chinatown, Little Italy and the Lower East Side since that's where our parking garage is and wait for us. We'll lure them there. I'll be getting them out of Central Park. Everyone save for the Hulk, stay close enough to the shufflers that they’ll chase you, but not too close. And make sure that you _don't get bit_. The comm system has been shaky at best, so if you have a problem and the comm's not working, fire off your flare and Tony or Thor will come help you. Are we good?" 

Everyone nodded. Clint and Natasha ran around to the garage for the mopeds, Thor and Tony flew away and the Hulk hesitated as Steve started to head toward Central Park. "It's okay, buddy," Steve assured him. "I've got this." 

Hulk leaned his head back, balled his fists, roared and bounded over to Steve. For one terrifying moment Steve thought he was about to get knocked out, but to his surprise, the Hulk reached out and patted the top of his head. Before Steve could think _what was that all about_ , the Hulk was trucking down the street toward the parking structure.

~*~

Steve ran as fast as his feet could carry him away from the park. He huffed heavily; the oppressive heat made it even more difficult to breathe and slowed his pace. It felt like running through quicksand and he had to push through the exhaustion.

Several hundred zombies on his heels created a certain amount of pressure. 

They ambled at him slowly from all directions. Every now and then he had to slow down to let them smell his scent and catch up a bit. If he let them get too far behind, they would wander off. 

He paused to catch his breath and laughed a bit as shuffler groaned and limped toward him. Luring zombies to their demise hadn’t even entered the realm of possibilities of ways he thought that he’d be using his super-soldier skill set.

He rounded the corner to find that the Hulk and Tony had already lured their zombies to the structure. They stood in a massive queue in front of it, arms stretched out, groaning at Tony and Hulk who stood behind the closed parking gate. Steve led his group around the corner and as he approached the rear of the queue, he found the closest fire escape. Its ladder wasn't lowered, but he managed to jump onto the first landing by leaping up and bounding off of a drainpipe. He climbed up to the structure’s roof and found Thor standing on the roof of the building across the street. Thor spun Mjolnir and took to the air, landing in front of Steve to lift him up and fly back over. 

"It appears as though our campaigns yielded success," Thor said as he looked at the mass of moaning shufflers. "The creatures have arrived in great numbers."

"I'm just wondering where Clint and Natasha could be. You were further out than they were. Did you see them?" 

No sooner had Steve asked when Clint and Natasha pulled around the corner, side-by-side on their mopeds with an army of zombies straggling behind them. Natasha looked determined though Clint looked absolutely spooked. "Stay here, Captain. I shall retrieve them."

Thor landed on the roof with an arm around Clint’s waist and Natasha straddling his back. She held on tightly around his chest. Before he touched down, she released into one of the most graceful somersault dismounts he'd ever seen. Briefly he pictured her in a gymnast's outfit, hair in a high ponytail and three gold medals dangling from her neck. 

Maybe the stress of fighting for a week straight had finally gotten to him, but laughter bubbled up in Steve's chest at the image. His shoulders shook as he tried to contain it, but there was nothing to be done. He started giggling. 

"Uh, Cap, does something about all of this strike you as funny?" Clint asked. 

"No, I just. Natasha. Gold medal." 

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Okay. He’s losing it. We need to get this done and over with. Are we ready to raise the gate yet, Cap?" 

Steve breathed deeply and composed himself. He looked down at the street to assess the situation. Swarms of shriveled grey bodies were jammed into a crowd, jostling to get at their prey. A massive groan rose up from them as Tony removed his helmet and gauntlets, striking goofy little poses in front of them. He walked closer to the gate and approached their hands only to step back and place his finger on his lips - the picture of false innocence. Steve shook his head. Only Tony would taunt thousands of starved monsters. 

Steve looked over the crowd of frenzied zombies and eyeballed a count of roughly four thousand five hundred. It seemed about right. 

"Tony? You ready?" He didn't think Tony's comm was working, but it was worth a shot. He received no response. He waited until Tony found his gaze and made the hand motion for them to raise the gates. 

Tony put on his gauntlets and helmet again. Steve looked at the hordes of hungry shufflers pressing forward when suddenly he felt his stomach drop to his feet. _What if something goes wrong?_

Tony has armor, Steve thought. Tony has armor and these creatures won’t be able to break it. They’re weak and slow; there’s no way they could get to him. He'll be fine. _He'll be fine._

The Hulk roared at the crowd in front of him. As the gate rose, it lifted several zombies whose hands were caught in the grating; they twisted and writhed in the air. The creatures that stood in front were trampled by the horde behind them that moved forward with a great shove. Some in the second line tripped over those that had fallen, and it seemed to Steve that it took a great deal of time for the crowd to begin shuffling inside. Their groan rose to a higher, throaty wail. As they started to filter in with arms outstretched toward the Hulk, he pulled back little by little, a giant green pied piper leading them to their demise. It had to be timed perfectly for all of them to fit inside. 

Tony took to the air almost immediately. Four grey hands scrabbled at his feet, but with a swift kick he broke free. He flew ahead of the crowd, pausing on every floor. The team on the roof watched as he attached a bomb to each concrete pillar. Tony had explained to them last night that they all were rigged to set off when the primary bomb was detonated, and that Clint's arrow would set them off. As Tony fixed the bombs, the Hulk started leading the masses up the ramp. They jostled forward after him and some actually landed bites before he sent them flying against the grating. 

The zombies bottlenecked at the structure's entrance but slowly they pushed their way inside. By the time they reached the fourth floor, most had shoved their way in. Clint pulled back his arrow, arms taut with tension. Tony gave the hand signal for the Hulk to get the hell out of there, turned to face the roof team and signaled Clint to fire. 

Hulk bounded up to the rooftop and the structure shook under his feet; Steve felt the vibrations even from where he stood. The shufflers groaned at the Hulk’s departure and wailed for his blood. He took a running leap and landed on the roof of the building two doors down. As the Hulk jumped, Clint fired his arrow. 

Steve's heart dropped to his feet and his stomach rolled over. 

Tony hadn't flown out. 

Only two seconds passed as the arrow flew. To Steve, it felt like days. The world stopped spinning when he saw what happened through the grating: Tony was still on the fourth floor trapped beneath a beam. He shoved at it first then raised his fist and started to cut it with his forearm laser, but it was too late.

In the blink of an eye, he was lost in an exploding cloud of debris and grey smoke. 

Thor and Natasha shouted and exchanged hugs. Clint started doing LMFAO’s _Party Rock Anthem_ shuffle until the Hulk came over and lifted him up in the air with a victory wave. "I'm glad you're excited, buddy, but I’m gonna have whiplash if you don't put me down." 

Thor set Natasha to the ground and his smile fell when he saw Steve's face. "Captain? What is wrong?" 

Natasha looked around. "Where's Tony?" 

Steve couldn't find his voice. He opened his mouth but no sound came out; he found no way to say _Tony's still in there. He's trapped._

The next thing he felt was a jarring motion as Hulk gripped him tight. He braced himself as best he could with the Hulk's thick arm wrapped around him. Briefly the wind stung his face as the Hulk jumped from the roof to the remains of the structure. When they landed, his feet scrabbled to find purchase among the jagged blocks of concrete and twisted metal. 

The Hulk immediately started throwing large chunks of concrete. 

Steve couldn't formulate a plan. Strategy eluded him and he felt strangely empty without it. Panic wrapped around him and his heart pounded so hard that he could barely hear anything save for the _thrum thrum_ in his ears.

Thor landed next to him with Clint and Natasha, and Steve still couldn't think of what to say. They waited for his signal, but he had no words. 

"Captain?" Thor asked. 

"Find him," Steve said. He picked up a chunk of concrete and threw it. "Just find him." 

Behind his back he heard Clint quietly giving directions to each of them, sectioning off areas and assigning them accordingly. Natasha volunteered to run the perimeter to take down any shufflers that might not have made it inside; it was something Steve probably would've told her to do anyway. The rest of them remained and started moving the pile beneath their feet. 

"Tony? Can you hear me?" Steve tried the comm. He knew it wouldn't work, but it was damn well worth a shot. He tried over and over through the slow minutes. The Hulk roared and lamented next to him, shouting "Iron Man!” and flinging boulders into the streets as if they were pebbles. Thor used Mjolnir to send concrete and car parts flying aside; it sounded with a loud metal clang with every strike. Clint did the best he could, taking the section with the smaller pieces and slowly but steadily progressing downward. 

Steve suddenly felt dizzy. He knelt down and retched; it was an empty, painful dry heave. His eyes stung with tears. 

"Cap, you okay?" Clint crouched next to him. "Why don't you go have a seat and rest? We got this. We'll find him." 

Steve shook his head and gathered himself. "You're wrong, Clint," he said as he rose from his knees. " _I'll_ find him." 

Clint smiled. "I hope that you do." He squeezed Steve's shoulder and returned to his pile again.

~*~

Shadows began creeping across the remains of the structure. Natasha pointed the mopeds’ lights at them. All time seemed distorted. Clint announced that a half hour had passed since the structure came down, but the twilight stretched on like eternity around Steve. Everything seemed to come to a halt: the birds stopped twittering; no mice scampered down the alleyway; not even a cockroach skittered when the lights came on.

He battled bouts of nausea, dizziness and exhaustion, praying for that glimpse of red. His back screamed in pain whenever he stood, but that didn't slow his efforts. He threw chunk after chunk of ruins, occasionally finding a grey arm dripping with blood or a twisted car bumper. 

Steve picked up a boulder that had a _4_ spray-painted onto it – a pillar from the parking structure. Just as he was about to throw it, a flash of dusty red and gold caught his eye. 

Frantically he tossed aside the surrounding concrete blocks and uncovered Tony's thigh. He worked his way up and met several layers of rock that needed to be shifted. "Tony! Tony can you hear me?" he shouted down as he threw aside a large block. His heart fluttered wildly as a pile of jagged concrete started shifting in front of his feet like a ripple in a sea of rocks. One gloved hand broke through, sending several blocks rolling down the slope of the ruins. Hope bubbled up in his chest. "Guys! A little help here!"

Everyone hurried over, making quick work of the rest of the blocks. With ten hands focused on one spot, it took no time to fully uncover Tony. His suit looked like it had been caught in the garbage disposal; entire chunks had fallen off or were twisted at odd angles. Steve pulled off the mask to reveal Tony's face. Tony sat up and blinked as the mopeds' lights shined in his eyes. 

"Jesus, guys, I'm fine. Really." Tony yanked off a broken gauntlet and started working off the other one. "Will you all stop acting like you weren't sure if I was dead? Is this gonna become a thing now? Because if it is, SHIELD needs to give me a raise. Seriously, I need compensation for emotional trauma. And now here's _another_ suit fucked up beyond all repair.” He threw aside his gauntlets and started working on his chest plate. “Sorry, Clint. I should've known better than to signal you to fire before I was out of there. Hulk with his giant clodhoppers thundering across the roof knocked down a beam and trapped me. If I was thinking, I would've made the explosives differently. I mean I could've-" 

Steve grabbed Tony's shoulders, pulled him forward and crashed his lips down on Tony's. Tony made a surprised _hm_ sound but made no move to stop him. Steve pulled his gloves off as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into Tony's mouth and cupping his face. Tony hummed deeply and Steve felt desire throb through his body, hot and possessive. He pulled Tony up on his knees. "Are you hurt?" 

"No. Fine. You?" 

Steve kissed Tony again and clasped his head. Sixty seconds ago, he thought Tony might have been gone. Sixty seconds ago, his world was crashing around him but now it had all changed. Now he held Tony in his arms, breathing, alive and pliant. Tony let Steve handle him and pull him flush against Steve’s body, moaned when Steve bit his bottom lip. Steve fully expected Tony to shove him back and send him sitting so that he could crawl on top and gain control, but he didn’t. Now, he allowed Steve to take what he wanted. 

And what Steve wanted to was to make love Tony, right there and in that instant. 

_To fuck him._

Somewhere to his left he heard Clint’s voice. “Let’s give ‘em a perimeter just in case anyone decides to make their way back into Manhattan. They need this moment.” Clint gave out directives but Steve focused on Tony, on his little breaths puffing against Steve’s cheek, on the dark scruff of his beard that was filling in, on the way his usually-meticulous hair stuck out endearingly in all directions. When Steve moved down to kiss Tony’s jaw, Tony’s smile disarmed Steve, leaving him undone with his heart spilling everywhere.

He felt dirty even thinking it, but the erection pressing painfully against the zip of his uniform told him that was exactly what he wanted. "Got any lube in your suit?" 

"Never thought you’d ask." Tony flipped open a panel on the outside of his left thigh – inside was a tiny bottle of lube and a condom. Somehow, Steve wasn’t surprised at this. "I've had dreams about this moment. Not even kidding. I dreamt that you wanted to fuck me in my armor. You bent me over my lab table while I was wearing the top half of my suit, rimmed me until I begged for it, and then you fucked me so hard that the table went skidding. I woke up that night a sweaty, sticky mess. JARVIS called me a tart when I installed this panel in the next day. Can you believe it? Me? A tart?” 

“Tony?” 

“Hm?” 

“If you can shut your mouth I’m gonna take you right here.” 

“Oh, I can do that.” Tony swallowed heavily and looked at Steve’s mouth. “I can definitely do that.” 

Steve kissed Tony deep and slow, a claiming exploration. His hands moved to the armor’s groin panels which already hung loose. He ripped one off and flung it into the street. It skittered over the cement with metallic clangs. “I thought you were gone,” he said as he ran his lips over the stubble of Tony’s neck. 

“I’m here. I’m fine, baby.” Tony’s Adam’s apple bobbed under Steve’s lips. 

Steve licked the skin there; it was salty and dirty but he wanted it - wanted every bit of dirt and sweat and everything that Tony could give him. His hands moved from Tony’s face down to his ass. He’d removed enough of the plates covering Tony’s groin to reveal the track pants he wore underneath. Tony moaned against his lips as Steve rubbed his ass, grabbing a firm hold of his cheeks and spreading them apart. 

Tony rubbed himself against Steve’s thigh, the hard line of his erection apparent even through Steve’s pants. Steve tried not to rut against Tony and come in his pants like a teenager. Tony pulled back, eyes dark. “You sure you wanna do this?” He sounded breathless. 

Steve felt a flare of annoyance. “Tony, listen carefully.” He reached in the tight space between them, past the iron shell of Tony’s chest, down to the tented fabric of Tony’s track pants. “I thought I’d lost you. Now that I know you’re fine, I want nothing more than to bury myself inside of you and feel you around me.” He cupped the hard line of Tony’s erection, squeezing it, rubbing up and down. Tony thrust his cock against Steve’s palm; the fabric was damp at the tip. “I want to feel your heartbeat when you come. I want to know you’re alive.” Words he’d never said out loud before came to his lips. “I want to fuck you.” 

“Jesus. Fuck, Steve. Your _mouth_. You can’t just say things like that. It should be illegal.” Tony unbuckled Steve’s belt, unhooking the clasp of Steve’s uniform pants and sliding down the zip. Together they worked them down around his thighs. His cock bobbed free and knocked against the cool plate of Tony’s armor. He slid his hands under the waistband of Tony's track pants and yanked them down over the tops of his thigh plates. 

There would be plenty of time to feel the expanse of Tony’s naked skin pressed against his own. They had all of their lives for slow, extensive explorations.

This, however, was not one of those times. 

A brief moment of guilt flashed through Steve's body that he was kissing Tony with their cocks out on top of a pile of rubble and crushed zombies for anyone to see, but his heart beat and his cock throbbed with the urge to show Tony exactly how glad he was that Tony was alive. And there was much to be said for the visual of Tony Stark in most of his armor minus the groin panels with his hard cock jutting out. That image led Steve to feel no guilt whatsoever. 

Steve took the lube and condom from Tony's hand, stood and moved behind Tony. 

Tony leaned forward when Steve touched his hip. His profile shone in the light from the mopeds - the little curve of his nose, the shadows of his eyelashes exaggerated, black and long across the tops of his cheeks. Even in the middle of a field of chaos, he was beautiful. 

Steve squeezed Tony's hip, popped open the lube and coated two fingers. "Ready?" 

Tony rolled his eyes and smiled. "As if creating a secret lube compartment wasn't enough of a hint for you? Come on, big boy. Time's wasting." He leaned forward and started stroking himself slowly. 

Steve placed his fingers on Tony's hole and pressed them in steadily, not stopping until both fingers were buried. Tony's eyes fluttered closed and his neck tensed; Steve gave him a moment to adjust before sliding them in and out, shallow thrusts, twisting, seeking that moment when Tony started to squirm for it. 

"Come on," Tony said, his hand moving faster on his cock. "I can take it." 

Steve ripped open the packet, slid on the condom and lubed his cock. He wrapped an arm around Tony's chest; his arm obscured part of the reactor's light and everything grew dimmer as he slid into Tony. He stilled at the intense tightness around his cock and pressed his temple to the side of Tony's head. He nuzzled for a moment, pausing as his balls drew up tight, smelling the musky odor of Tony’s skin and thinking _mine_. 

"Come on," Tony said again, trying to rock back on Steve's cock. He struggled to get leverage but had a hard go of it with his track pants inhibiting his movement. 

Steve knew exactly what Tony was looking for and saw no reason to delay. He bent Tony forward, already missing the sweaty press of Tony's temple against his own and snapped his hips. The slap echoed in the empty space around them. 

"Fuck, Steve." Tony braced himself against a boulder in front of him. 

Steve wrapped his hand around Tony's hip and drove forward. His other arm still supported the weight of Tony's chest made heavier by the remaining armor. He used his strength to move Tony, to slam into him, to give him everything he had - his cock, his strength, his love, his heart. 

"Steve," Tony said. His voice was broken and something inside Steve twisted hearing it. "I love you." 

Steve couldn't see Tony’s orgasm but rather felt it ripping through him; he tensed in Steve's arms and shuddered, his arm slowing its movements. Steve held Tony's weight as he huffed. 

Tony reached back and pulled at Steve's thigh. "What's wrong, Cap? Tuckered out yet? Your turn now." He sat back on Steve's cock. "Don't get shy on me. You were just fucking me like it was the end of the world." 

Steve leaned forward, pressed a kiss to Tony's neck and thrust in deep. His orgasm seemed secondary to the joy of holding Tony, his skin salty under Steve's lips, his laugh lines forming as he smiled over his shoulder at Steve while Steve came. 

"I'm glad you found me," Tony said as Steve slid off the condom and tied it up. Tony pulled up his track pants and turned to help Steve fix his trousers. “Was starting to get a bit worried for a minute there under all that.” He waved his hand to indicate the pile of boulders. 

Steve took Tony’s face between his hands and kissed him softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

"I'm not going anywhere," Tony said. "I'll be chasing after your ass until we’re old, wrinkled and grey.” His words were typical snark but his tone was as soft as a pillow, full of intent and affection.

“I love you, Tony.” Steve said the words against Tony’s lips. “And I’d expect nothing less.”

~*~

They slowly made their way back to Stark Mansion some time later. Clint pointed out how they were “ _shuffling_ back, ha ha,” though everyone was too physically and emotionally drained to laugh.

After showering for an eternity together, Steve and Tony collapsed into bed, kissing lazily before falling asleep with their heads sharing the same pillow. (Tony would steal it during the night, of course, but Steve didn’t really mind.) At some point Cat jumped up on covers to settle in and curled up next to Tony’s chest, head-butting Steve’s hand which was resting under the arc reactor. He scratched under her chin before laying his hand flat against Tony’s stomach, feeling protective and possessive. 

Tony covered Steve’s hand with his own, lacing his fingers through. A moment later, he was snoring softly. 

With Tony’s back pressed to Steve’s chest, in the moments right before he fell into a contented sleep, Steve thought that perhaps they out to consider taking a vacation.

He drifted off and thought of Mexico and its white sand beaches.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the accompanying artwork [here](http://pinkelephant42.livejournal.com/175999.html) done by the lovely pinkelephant42. She's created EIGHT pieces to go along with this fic. Truly phenomenal.


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